


Stole My Heart (among other things)

by herecomesbucktofuckshitup



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Puns, Canon-Typical Violence, Dog Cops, Everyone Needs A Hug And Goddammit They Will Get One, FTM Pietro, Hardcore Dating, Heist, Multi, Oral Sex, Overly Dependent Friend Groups, Past Domestic Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pickpocket Bucky, Polyamory, Shady Professional Choices, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herecomesbucktofuckshitup/pseuds/herecomesbucktofuckshitup
Summary: Steve was looking back and forth between the thief and his roommate. “You know this, this, this hooligan?!” Steve asked, and Natasha made a face at him.“Yeah, this is James. We were in the system together. How do you-"“He’s the prickpocket!” Steve said, all semblance of sanity flying out the window.(Or, Bucky gives Steve a blowjob, then steals his wallet. Hilarity and love ensues)





	1. The Prickpocket

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody! Thank you so much for reading! I love you all.
> 
> (I'm terrible at porn sorry) 8=====D~

Steve liked to consider himself a pretty decent guy. He didn't leave his dishes in the sink. He recycled. He did his share of the chores. He tipped waitresses. He donated to charity. He sometimes even went to Mass on sundays.  He wasn’t the kind of guy to go to a sleazy club on a Saturday night and ditch his friends to get a blowjob from a pretty boy in an alleyway next to a dumpster.

Coincidentally, that happened to be exactly what he was doing.

“Fuck.” He breathed, fingers scrambling against the cold brick of the wall against his back.

The guy pulled off of his cock with an obscene _pop_.

“Pull my hair.” He demanded, then went back to sucking Steve’s dick. Steve, not one to deny cute boys anything they wanted, fisted his hands in long dark hair and pulled.

He guy moaned around Steve’s length, and the feeling was enough to make Steve’s vision blur.

It’s easily one of the top 10 blowjobs that Steve has ever received. Okay, top 5. Maybe one of the best. Steve wished he could give this guy a medal, but at the moment all he could do was chant praises and pull the guy’s hair.

He came into the condom, shuddering with release. The guy pulled off, smirking up at Steve. Steve reached down for him, pulling him up into a sweltering kiss. The guy helped Steve pull up his pants, and when Steve reached to reciprocate, the way waved him off.

“No need, pal.” The guy said, squeezing Steve’s ass and placing another kiss on the corner of his mouth. “See ya around.”

The sauntered off and the walk would not be out of place on a Milan catwalk. Steve watched him walk away, enjoying the view before shaking himself out of his stupor and turning back to the club.

“Hey,” Sharon breathed, smiling at him as he approached the bar. “We thought you’d disappeared on us.”

‘We’ consisted of Sharon, Pepper, Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey. They all worked together at Stark Industries, and while Steve liked his co-workers, he wasn’t one for associating with them outside of the workplace. Mostly because associating with them outside of the workplace led to wild drunken nights that usually ended the next morning with everyone miserable and bruised.

Tony threw an arm over Steve’s shoulders, having to stand on his toes in order to do so. “Looks like Steve was gettin’ luuuuuucky.” He slurred, raising his glass. “To loosing virginity!” He cheered and some skinny brunette girl next to him whooped and clinked glasses with him before dancing off.

“I think I’m just gonna go home,” Steve told Bruce, who always volunteered to be the sober buddy. Bruce nodded and patted his arm, and took Tony when Steve handed him off.

A walk in the chilly night air did him some good. He ran a hand through his hair and frowned, thinking about the guy from the alley. Steve wished he’s gotten his number, or at least a name. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. His pink lips, his stunning eyes, his killer cheekbones, his soft hair. God, he was so fucking fuckable.

Steve reached the his subway stop and headed down the stairs. He got to the turnstile and absentmindedly reached into his pocket. When he found no wallet, he frowned. He reached into the other pocket, then his back pockets, then his jacket pockets, unsuccessful with every try.

“What the hell?” He muttered, checking again.

He thought back, retracing his steps of the night. The last time he’d had it was at the bar, when he’d bought himself a drink. No wait, the last time was when he’d bought the blowjob guy a drink, and then….

“Son of a bitch!” Steve shouted, gaining a startled look by some Japanese tourists getting on the subway.

He couldn’t believe it.

He muttered to himself the entire walk home. And it was a long walk, because he didn’t have his goddamned Metrocard.

“You can’t just give a man a blowjob and steal his wallet, what the hell. ‘Oh, no need, pal.’” He mocked, insulting thin air. “‘See ya around, pal’, ‘oh, I don’t need reciprocation, I’ve already taken the liberty of taking you fucking wallet’!” Steve kicked at some trash on the sidewalk.

Steve continued fuming until he got home, carefully not slamming the door as to not wake his roommates. He toed off his shoes and his pants, crawling into bed in jerky, angry movements.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he ranted to his roommates over breakfast.

“Man, he took your wallet while giving you a sloppy toppy? Damn, that’s messed up, dude.” Sam said, handing Steve a piece of bacon in commiseration.

“Ah, yes, the prickpocket. A classic move,” Natasha nodded, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.  

When Steve had answered a craigslist ad for a roommate, he hadn't expected some creep or murderer. No, Steve’s romantic artists’ heart had expected some mysterious beautiful stranger that he would eventually get his heart broken by. What he got was Natasha and Sam, a mysterious and beautiful engaged couple. They seemed intimidating at first, but as Steve got to know them, they turned out to be complete dorks that embraced Steve into their lives and home with open arms.

Their apartment was 2D, and across the hall in 2H lived the the Barton-Bishop-Chavez clan. Clint Barton was really the unofficial fourth resident of 2D. He was Natasha and Sam’s boyfriend or fuck-buddy or triad-life-partner, Steve wasn’t really sure and too awkward to ask. Clint _ostensibly_ lived with Kate Bishop, who was his ward or unofficial adopted little sister or something and her girlfriend, America Chavez, but Steve was almost certain that Clint spent more time sleeping in Sam and Natasha's bed than he did his own. 

Next door in 2C lived Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, teenage twins of terror. They were loud and dramatic, and they tended get into Sokovian screaming matches with their parents over the phone.

The residences of 2D, 2H, and 2C spent way too much time together to be simply neighbourly. Sam, Natasha, and Clint for sexy fun times; America, Kate, and the twins to do whatever it was that young people do, and Steve because he doesn’t have any other friends. But it lead to crowded Sunday morning breakfasts.

 

“Was he any good, though?” Clint asked through a mouthful toast.

“Well, he had to be, I didn’t notice until I got to Sterling Street Station.” Steve answered.

“Nah, man, he’s asking if it was a good BJ.” Kate clarified, and Clint nodded.

“Yeah, was your thief a real head doctor?” America asked, and Wanda made a face.

“I’m confused. Why would he be a doctor?” She asked. Pietro leaned over a whispered an explanation in her ear. She pinked, but nodded. “Okay I understand now, continue.”

“I mean, yeah it was good. Is there really such a thing as a bad blowjob?”

Clint shook his head and raised his chocolate milk in a ‘here, here’ gesture, but Sam winced. “Sure there is.”

“So that’s 1 negative and 2 positive from the penises at the table. We need a wider margin.” Kate said, tapping distractedly on her phone. “...such thing as a bad blow j-o-b.”

“I mean, there’s obviously bad cunnulingus,” America started, and Kate, Natasha, Wanda, and Pietro all nodded in agreement.

“Wait, really? Clint asked, looking befuddled.

“Of course, dude.” Sam said, slapping Clint’s arm. “I know you’ve seen a vagina, but have you really _ever_ seen a vaginia? It’s like a maze down there. I don’t know what the hell to do with that!”

“I think you do fine, babe.” Natasha said, patting Sam on the shoulder without away from Steve. “But we’re getting away from the point.”

“Wait, what about me?” asked Clint.

“On a scale from one to ten, how good was the prick-pocket?” Natasha asked Steve, eyes sharp as if she was waiting for Steve to tell her state secrets instead of rating a blowjob.

“Um, like a 7?” He said, pushing food around on his plate.

“Natasha, what about me?” Clint asked again, reaching over Sam to tug on her sleeve.

“You’re lying,” Natasha said, cocking her head in a terrifying way.

“I’m good at clam-diving, right?” Clint asked, pulling at Natasha.

“Ew, dude.” Pietro said, nose-wrinkling.

“Yeah, man don’t call it that.” Sam said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” said Steve, looking away from Natasha.

“You called a blowjob a ‘sloppy-toppy’!” Clint exclaimed at Sam.

“Yes you do.” Natasha accused, eyes narrowing.

“Wait, you said there is such thing as a bad blowjob. You’re not talking about me, right?” Clint demanded.

“Okay well my twitter poll has about 72% of penis-users saying that there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob and 26% saying there is with 2% being indifferent.” Kate announces.

“Okay, fine. It was an amazing experience.” Steve told Natasha, rolling his eyes.

“Indifferent? How are 2 percent ‘indifferent’?” Wanda asked, and Pietro frowned adding, “How many twitter followers do you have?”

“Clint, I promise you are a Grade-A cocksucker.” Sam sighed.

“How amazing?” Natasha asked.

“I don’t know, girl, maybe they don’t like having their dicks sucked.” America told Wanda at the same time Kate told Pietro “A lot.”

“Are you being sarcastic? I’m feeling sarcasm.” Clint said.

“World-shattering.” Steve deadpanned.

Natasha raised a triumphant eyebrow.

“Natashaaaaaa, Sam’s being mean to me.” Clint whined.

“I’ve got a track meet.” Pietro said, pushing up from the table.

“Oh no, don’t care about your dishes, please, I’ll deal with it.” Steve snarked, and Pietro rolled his eyes, overexaggeratedly taking his dishes and then Wanda’s.

“I wasn’t done, dickhole!” She yelped, standing up and saving her breakfast from the dishwasher.

“We gotta go, Wanda come onnnnn.” He said, pulling at her wrist.

She huffed and shoveled as much food in her mouth as possible.

“Sam, be nice to the baby.” Natasha said, stealing food off his plate.

“Sammmmmmm, Natasha’s being mean to me.” Clint turned to Sam.

“Fuck, are you done yet?” Pietro complained, and Wanda made direct eye-contact with him and started moving the food to her mouth as slowly as possible.

“Hey, babe is Dogcops on tonight?” America asked, and Kate nodded absentmindedly.

“Okay, you’re done,” Pietro announced, taking Wanda’s plate from her and throwing it in the dishwasher.

She rolled her eyes and let him drag her to the door. “Peace out, motherfuckers!” Pietro called, slamming the door behind them.

“I think we forgot to set it to record.” America said, frowning.

“No, I recorded it.” Clint said confidently, from where he lay sprawled across Natasha and Sam.

“Are you sure?” Kate asked, raising her eyebrows without looking up from her phone.

“Yeah.” Clint said, trying to struggle to sit up into a dignified position.

“But are you _sure._ ” America asked, crossing her arms.

Clint blinked, sitting on Sam’s lap. “I’m… pretty sure.”

Kate finally looked up. “Clint, last week’s cliffhanger has been killing me for the last 7 days. If you forgot to record it I will actually murder you.”

Clint was at the door before the sentence was over. “I’m gonna go check.”

“Good choice,” America muttered, standing. “Thanks for breakfast Sam.”

She pulled Kate to her feet and they left, leaving a table full of dirty dishes in their wake.

“I cooked,” Sam said, standing, and Natasha rushed to put a finger to her nose. Steve sighed and waved her off.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He said, collecting the plates and silverware.

He was elbow-deep in sudsy water when the doorbell rang. 

“Can one of you get that?” Steve called.

“Busy!” Natasha yelled from the bedroom.

Steve sighed and wiped his hands off, walking to the door.

He opened the door only to be greeted by killer cheekbones, wide stunning eyes, and very familiar pink lips.

“You- you-” Steve spluttered angrily. “The Prickpocket!” He finally yelled.

The guy was pale, obviously shocked.  He blinked several times, as if rebooting. His weight shifted, as if readying for a fight. His mouth quirked up in a blatantly fake smirk. “Please tell me that’s not what you’ve been calling me.”


	2. Natasha's Friend, The Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in end notes

“Is, um, is Natalia home?” He asked, trying to peer around Steve.

“No! No.” Steve yelled.

“She’s not?” The guy asked, leaning back on his heels. “Then I’ll just-”

“I mean, no! You don’t get to just show up here, all-” Steve gestures angrily at the guy’s skinny jeans and tight shirt and leather jacket and general fuckableness. “And just ask to see my roommate! It’s ridiculous! Completely absurd! Fucking cockamamie!” Steve yelled. 

The guy winced and looked down the hallway as if looking for an exit. 

“Look man, you want your wallet back? Is that what you want?” He reached into one of the pockets of his jacket. “Here. Here it is.”

“No I do not want- well yeah of-fucking-course I want my wallet back.” He said, snatching his wallet from the guy. “But that’s not- it’s the principle of the thing! The morality! The fact that you would- there’s only 5 dollars in here.” 

The guy looked taken aback. “I needed food?” He said, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I’ll pay you back when I have the money, okay?”

“James?” Steve whipped around to see Natasha peering out the door.

“Nat.” The guy sighed, relaxing. “Sorry, I would have called, but this town doesn’t have any fucking phone booths anymore.” 

Steve was looking back and forth between the thief and his roommate. “You know this, this, this hooligan?!” Steve asked, and Natasha made a face at him.

“Yeah, this is James. We were in the system together. How do you-”

“He’s the prickpocket!” Steve said, all semblance of sanity flying out the window.

“Hooligan?” James asked, actually seeming offended. 

“You’re the prickpocket?” Natasha asked, pushing Steve out of the way. 

“Look, Nat I need your help with something.”

“You don’t just suck a man’s dick and then steal his wallet!” Steve seethed, knowing that he was slowly sounding more unhinged.

“What’s happening?” Sam said, sticking his head into the hallway.

“Natasha knows the prickpocket!” Steve said, and Sam swayed back, placing his hands up as if to protect himself.

“Woah.” He said, darting forward to take Steve by the shoulders. “Take a breath dude, you’re turning red.”

Steve just gestured wildly and Sam took a step back, dodging Steve’s limbs. Sam looked around Steve’s broad chest to “James” at the door.

“Oh hey, Bucky!” Sam said, face breaking into the million-dollar smile. “How are you man, I haven’t seen you in years!” 

And then he just… walked past Steve to  _ hug the prickpocket. _

“Hey Sam, you motherfucker, it’s good to see you, hot stuff.” James/Bucky/Prickpocket returned Sam’s embrace, slapping him heartily on the back.

“What is happening?!?” Steve asked, seemingly to the air. 

“Ow, fuck.” The prickpocket swore, and Sam released him, frowning.

“Is it your ribs?” Sam asked, as Natasha brazenly lifted up the guys shirt, revealing discolored bruises. The guy scrambled to push his shirt down.

“It’s nothing, Nat, leave it alone.” He said, wincing. 

“I didn’t do that!” Steve proclaimed, feeling the need to declare his innocence. Sam shot him a look and Steve shrugged, at a loss of what to do or think. 

The guy looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “I know, dude.” 

Natasha was circling around the guy, lifting up his arms as if she could scan for injuries through the layers of his clothes. 

“Look, sis, I just need a place to crash until I find a place of my own.” The guy explained, shaking himself out of Natasha’s grip. She glared at him, but Sam clasped him on the shoulder.

“Of course, man. We got a pull out couch and everything.” He said, giving a toothy smile.

The guy grinned. “Pull-out couch? I’ve always wondered what the life of luxury was like.” 

“Um!” Steve protested, but Natasha shot him a withering look and he closed his mouth. 

“Bucky, this is Steve. Steve, Bucky.” Sam introduced, turning to face Steve. 

The guy stuck out his hand, smirking. “We’ve met.”

“Yeah, we heard that you gave Steve one of the greatest blowjobs of his life.” Natasha said dryly. 

“One of the greatest? Really?” Bucky asked Steve, looking smug. 

“It was a 7 at best.” Steve snapped, and the guy placed a hand over his heart.

“Well now I’m hurt.” he drawled. 

“And you’re resorting to pickpocketing now, James? What the hell?” Natasha asked, smacking Bucky’s arm. 

“I had to ditch all my stuff!” The guy yelped, rubbing his arm. “I was hungry.” 

“Dude, come to the kitchen.” Sam sighed. “I made some awesome pancakes this morning.” He pulled Bucky by the wrist down the hallway.

“I’m not doing his dishes!” Steve called to their retreating backs. As they retreated from his line of sight, he collapsed on the couch, rubbing at his temples. He looked up to see Natasha staring down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. Her eyes were glazed over, the way they tended to when she was trying to hide some emotion. Other that that, she was completely unreadable. 

“Natasha?” Steve asked, and she broke out of her daze, shaking her head. 

“That dumbass kid is gonna get himself killed,” Natasha muttered, sitting down next to Steve.

“So how do you know him?” Steve asked, wrapping an arm around Natasha’s shoulders. 

“We were in some of the same foster houses together.” She told him, resting her head on Steve’s collarbone. 

As far as Steve has known her, Natasha’s childhood has been a subject that they Do Not Talk About. He vaguely knew that she had been in the system and he had met Nick, who adopted her when she was 16, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

“He was younger, and he used to follow me around like a puppy.” She said, a small smile gracing her lips.

The door banged open and they both jumped. It was Clint, looking frantic.

“Hey, can we watch Dogcops at your place tonight? I kind of broke the TV.” He asked, shutting the door behind him and leaning against the frame.

There was a  _ thud  _ and Clint was pushed forward a few inches, but he persevered, reaching behind himself to lock the door. 

“Yeah… sure.” Steve answered hesitantly. “Is America gonna break our door down again?”

“Probably not,” Clint said, plopping down on the couch next to Natasha.

There was another  _ thud  _  and Natasha sighed and got up. She slammed her fist down on the door and shouted something intimidating in Russian. She was answered by intimidating shouting in Spanish, but it sounded like they were retreating back to 2H. Steve often wondered what the other residences of their hall thought of their antics. Probably nothing good. 

“What the hell is going on?” The prickpocket asked, head emerging from the hallway.

“Bucky?” Clint asked, standing.

“Clint!” Bucky responded happily.

“Bucky!” Clint ran to Bucky side and they started hopping up and down excitedly like children. Clint looked at Natasha and then at Sam, who was walking into the front room. “You guys, Bucky’s here!” He told them cheerfully.

“We noticed.” Sam responded, amused. 

“Why does everyone know this asshole but me?” Steve threw his hands up, annoyed. 

“Sit down dude, I’ve learned like, six new braids since I saw you last.” Clint told Bucky, pulling him to the couch. 

The guy sat at Clint’s feet and Steve was struck by the memory of the guy panting up at him, demanding, “pull my hair.” 

“I'm gonna take a walk.” Steve stated, standing abruptly. 

“Bring me back some starbucks.” Natasha called as Steve shut the door behind himself.

Steve spent the day avoiding his apartment. He went to Prospect Park and sketched passersby. He went to a bookstore and read for a few hours. He sat in a cafe and looked through art deals that he thought Pepper might like. It was dusk when Steve finally got Natasha’s upside down venti caramel macchiato with and extra pump of caramel and an americano for himself. 

“Finally,” Natasha sighed as he walked in the door. She took a sip of her drink and winced. “You forgot to make it soy.” 

Steve shrugged unapologetically and set his laptop bag down on the coffee table. He glanced around the apartment, trying to be inconspicuous. Judging by the unimpressed look on Natasha’s face, he failed. 

Sam came around the corner looking cheerful. “Ready to go, babe?” He asked, catching sight of Steve. He winked, then draped an arm around his fiancee. “Oh, Nat, I didn’t see you there.”

She rolled her eyes and elbowed Sam in the side. Steve frowned.

“Where are you guys going?” He asked. 

“Dogcops at the Maximoff’s.” Sam explained. 

“What happened to watching it here?”

“Clint broke our TV.” Natasha said, resigned. “Are you coming?”

“No, I think I’m good.” Steve told them, glancing at the TV. Trying to watch anything with everybody involved was loud and chaotic, and Steve was never able to follow the plot of whatever it was they were watching. 

“Alright man, your loss. See you.” Sam said, and they left. 

Steve went to the TV box, trying to figure out what Clint had done to it. His roommates were helpless when it came to fixing things. Nothing was obviously shattered or had arrows sticking out of it, so Steve figured that was a good sign. He finally found the problem; a few misplaced wires. He didn’t know how Clint managed it, but it was a simple fix.

“Natalia?” A voice asked, and Steve startled, smacking his head on the TV cabinet. 

“Ow, shitfuck.” Steve cursed, pulling away from the console. He turned to see Natasha’s friend the thief, looking pale and wearing Sam’s ‘Brooklyn Turkey Trot 2013’ shirt. 

“You’re still here?” Steve asked sourly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Look, I don’t get why you have this problem with me,” The guy started.

“Oh you don’t? I thought it’d be fairly obvious.” Steve snarked.

“I gave your wallet back! And I apologized. I don’t know what else I can do.” He said, pouting. 

“It’s not just the wallet! I mean yeah, that’s a big part of it; stealing someone’s wallet is a total dick move. But the fact that you- look, did you even want to, y’know…” Steve trailed off making a vague gesture. 

“Wait,” The guy, Bucky, James, whatever, said. “Your problem is that I sucked your dick? I think that it’s a lot nicer way to steal from someone than holding them at gunpoint, don’t you think?”   


“That’s not the point!” Steve huffed. “Sex is not just a means to an end! You shouldn’t go around doing what-whatever if you don’t want to.” 

Bucky’s face cracked into a smile. “You think I didn’t want to blow you?” He sounded incredulous. “Pal, I like sucking cock.” He said, and slowly started walking towards Steve. “And I really liked sucking  _ your  _ cock, Steven Grant Rogers. Trust me when I say that it was no chore.” 

“Oh.” Steve breathed, and his breath ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Well,” He said trying to look anywhere other than the familiar pink lips so close to his. 

“Well,” Bucky agreed. 

“I’m still mad at you.” Steve said.

“Of course.” Bucky smiled.

“Stealing is wrong.” Steve said.

“Uh-huh.” Bucky nodded. “Tell me more.”

“I want my money back.” Steve told him.

“And you’ll get it.” Bucky said. 

“Good.” Steve said, nodding. His forehead brushed Bucky’s temple.

“Wanna fuck?” Bucky asked.

“Oh god, yes.” Steve agreed, and lead the way to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a tiny tiny mention of implied abuse


	3. Charming Rogue

 

In the light of the morning, Steve trailed his fingers along Bucky’s side. The bruises were mottled, dark and ugly. When they had been in bed together, Bucky pushed Steve’s curious hands away and said  _ “Don’t worry about it, just be gentle, okay?” _

Now, without the distraction of sex, Steve explored Bucky’s sleep-warm body. There were fingerprint shaped bruises stained onto his forearm and hips, though the latter may have been Steve’s fault. Bucky’s body was littered with scars. Little nicks here and there and livid raised marks. He wondered what Bucky had gone through, wondered where the map of his skin lead. 

_ “Get the fuck up, get the fuck up” _ His alarm rang, and he sat up and grabbed for his phone, silencing it. 

Bucky was blinking awake, nose scrunching up adorably. “Dude what the hell is your alarm?” 

Steve waved his phone. “My boss set it and I can't figure out how to switch it back.” 

Bucky sat up and hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder. “Who do you work for?” He asked, broad hands running up Steve’s torso. 

“I'm not at liberty to say,” Steve answered, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Ooh. International man of mystery.” Bucky teased, and Steve yelped as Bucky tweaked one of his nipples. 

“Stop that.” Steve laughed, batting Bucky’s hands away. “I have to shower.” 

“I'll come with you.” Bucky said, sliding off the bed. 

Steve pointed at him. “You stay here. You'll make me late.”

Bucky made a face at him, but sat back down on the bed. “Fine.” He huffed and pulled the comforter back over himself. “Don't wake me for anything that isn't sex or food” He muttered into the sheets. Steve laughed at him and headed for the bathroom. 

After he was cleaned and dressed, he headed to the kitchen. The triad was already eating breakfast, though it looked like Clint was falling asleep at his plate. 

“Don't you have your own apartment?” Sam was asking him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. 

“Yeah, but the coffee here is so much better.” Clint said, making imploring eyes and grabby at Sam. Sam scoffed and gave Clint his mug. Clint took a sip with a pleased look on his face. 

“You're too easy on him.” Natasha said, taking the mug. Clint pouted and Natasha kissed him sweetly before sipping the coffee. 

“There are easier ways to swap spit, you know.” Steve said. 

“Oh, we know.” Sam said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Speaking of,” Natasha said, turning on Steve. 

“Uh-oh.” Clint whispered. 

“You had sex with James.” She accused. 

“Yeah, I remember. He stole my wallet.” Steve deflected. 

“You know damn well what I mean, Rogers.” She said, setting her mug down. Clint made a grab for it, but she picked it up again. 

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Was I not supposed to?”

Natasha just raised her eyebrow. It was a very frightening eyebrow. 

“Look, yes I did. We did, I mean. He suggested it and I agreed. It was very enjoyable for everyone involved.” He was starting to ramble. Natasha’s scary eyebrow did that to him. “How was Dogcops?” He tried, badly. 

“Oh dude, it was amazing you should have seen it. Mr. Whiskers was totally-” 

“ _ Клинтон _ !” Natasha snapped, and Clint shut his mouth. 

“How do you do that?” Sam asked, amazed. He leaned against Clint’s chair to watch the spectacle. She turned her icy look on Sam who raised his hands in surrender. 

Steve was almost to the door by the time she rounded on him. “You! You are taking advantage of someone vulnerable.

“I just want to go to work.” Steve said, holding his laptop bag in front of him like a shield. 

“I want coffee.” Bucky appeared in the doorway of the kitchen wrapped in Steve’s comforter. He zeroed in on the mug in Natasha’s hands. 

He waddled over and brazenly took it from her hand, then took a large gulp of it. Steve watched in horror, waiting for her to eviscerate him. Instead, all that happened was that he made a disgusted face, said “never mind” and handed it back. 

He waddled back, stopping briefly to head-butt Steve’s shoulder, like a cat showing affection. Then he continued down the hallway, passed the kitchen, and presumably returned to Steve’s bedroom. 

“I'm, uh, I’m gonna go to work now.” Steve said, reaching for the door. “I'll be home by five, love you bye!” He said in a rush, trying to shut the door behind himself and run down the hallway without Natasha catching up to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Officially, Steve was an art consultant for Pepper Potts. This meant he acquired art- paintings, drawings, sculptures, or otherwise- for Miss. Potts. He had to determine what she might like as well as what would be suitable with the provided space. He was an art consultant. That's what it said at payroll and it was technically part of his job. 

Off the books, however; Steve was Miss. Potts’ personal bodyguard. Stark had promoted when some misogynistic douchebros made noise on the internet after Pepper became the CEO of Stark Industries. She received several threats and messages about a woman’s place. And while Pepper had responded with graceful eloquence about gender equality, Stark had freaked the fuck out. 

Hence his hiring of Steve. Steve, who had gone through military basic before being found 4F for his asthma. Steve, who had spent years in private sector security. Steve, who had a master's degree in art history and a side business in reselling art. 

Steve and Stark didn't get on that well, Steve’s personality clashing with Stark’s loud annoying…. Starkiness. But Pepper and Steve were fast friends, sharing similar tastes in art and wine. Steve helped schedule her hectic days, helped her deal with the investors and the media and Stark’s antics and meetings and memos and the technicians and Stark and all that came with running a multi-billion dollar company that was owned by an overgrown man child with three PhDs and a caffeine addiction.

“Steve, I’m exhausted.” Pepper groaned as Steve slid into the car next to her. “Tell me about your weekend.” The car’s engine rumbled and they pulled out of the parking garage.

“I got my wallet stolen.” Steve started, gesturing at Pepper’s seat-belt. She buckled it and turned back to him. 

“Oh my god really? You didn’t get mugged, did you?” Her hands flitted over Steve’s arm like she was checking for injury. 

“No, no, it’s fine.” He assured, and felt kinda bad for making her worry. “I ended up getting it back.” 

Pepper’s brow creased in confusion. “What? How?” 

He shrugged. “The pric- the pickpocket showed up at my apartment, looking for my roommate. He apologized and gave it back.” 

“That’s weird as hell,” Happy, the driver, said. 

“It really was.” Steve agreed, resting his head on the seat. It was even weirder than they knew. 

Pepper made a considering noise. “Stranger than my weekend, anyway. All I did was read mountains of paperwork and shoot down six of Tony’s ideas. Maybe I should approve one, just to have a little excitement.” 

Steve winced. “You’ve gotta weigh the good against the bad. It would be entertaining, yes; but it may also cause the end of the world.” 

Pepper tilted her head and hummed. “You’ve got a point.”

“I slept with him.” Steve blurted. 

“What?” Pepper asked, eyebrows flying up. 

“Not Tony!” Steve cried, knowing that Pepper and Tony either had some sort of relationship or were heading that way. He didn't want to delve to his bosses personal lives, but he was fairly certain that they were together, and he most certainly did not want to be on Pepper’s bad side. 

“The guy who stole my wallet. I slept with him.” Steve said, feeling his face heat. 

“Oh,” Pepper said, looking taken aback. “Oh.” She said again, sitting back in her seat. “Was it any good?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. It was… it was pretty good.” 

“I imagine a thief’s gotta be good in bed.” She said, considering. “That roguish charm? Like Han Solo or a pirate.”

“Don't wanna sleep with a pirate.” Happy said, shaking his head. “Lots of STD’s.” 

“Maybe not a pirate.” Pepper amended. 

“Oh, look, we’re here.” Steve said, relieved. 

They walked into the Stark Industries building, and went straight to the staff elevator.

“R&D, please Jarvis.” Pepper said, and the button for the 42nd floor lit up. 

_ “Right away, Miss. Potts.”  _ The elevator replied, and the doors closed.

When they opened to Research and Development’s floor, Pepper march forward, tapping away at her tablet. “I just need to get Tony’s signature on something.” She told them.

“Do you smell that?” Steve said, frowning. 

“I would just sign it for him myself, but the secretaries from Hammer Tech are so anal about that sort of thing.” Pepper continued, rounding the corner towards the lab. 

“It smells like…” Steve’s eye widened and he wrapped himself around Pepper, pushing her back around the corner. He grabbed at the back of Happy’s jacket, pulling him down with them.

“Get down!” He shouted, just as a fireball exploded from the door of the laboratory. 

The sprinklers in the hallway activated immediately, and Bruce emerged from the lab, coughing and singed. His coat was still smoking and his glasses were askew. Steve ran forward, taking Bruce by the arm and herding him around the corner. “Tony,” Bruce coughed, gesturing toward the lab. 

“I’m on it,” Steve assured him. He ran into the lab, where Tony was aiming a fire extinguisher at the worst of the flames. 

“Jarvis!” Steve called, grabbing Tony. 

_ “On it, sir.”  _ Jarvis said, and the room filled with the chemical flame retardant that Tony had designed specifically for this purpose. Steve picked Tony up and physically carried him out of the lab. 

Out in the hallway, Happy, Pepper, and Bruce were soaked. Steve set Tony down next to them, surveying the damage. Tony seemed mostly unharmed, though slightly singed and missing an eyebrow. Steve’s lungs seized and he coughed. He coughed and coughed until he brought his inhaler to his lips, breathing in the medicine that opened his airways, allowing him to breathe.

“Tony, what the  _ hell. _ ” Pepper finally sighed, dropping her head against the wall. 

Tony just blinked in confusion. He looked down at the fire extinguisher in his hands, then at Steve. “Woah.” He said, reaching for missing eyebrow. Steve is bewildered. Tony Stark at a loss for words. A miracle. 

Sharon ran down the hallway, looking frantic. “Is everyone okay?” She stopped in front of them and took stock of everyone. “Do I need to call a doctor?”

“I think,” Bruce said, nervously taking off his glasses. “That everyone’s okay.” 

They all looked at each other, checking for injuries. They eventually nodded. 

Sharon sighed deeply. “Jarvis?” 

_ “The floor is secure, Sergeant Carter.”   _ Jarvis assured. 

Steve helped Pepper to her feet. “I have a spare change of clothes in my office.” She told him. “For Tony, too.” 

Pepper grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled him up. “Let’s go, dumbass.” 

 

* * *

 

Steve got home late due to the lab accident. When he finally got to his apartment, it was to find Bucky and Pietro sitting at the kitchen table, sprinkling talcum powder on Pietro’s binder. 

“Uh, hi.” Steve said, dumbfounded. “Where are the people who actually live here?” He asked, looking around for his roommates.

“Why are your clothes wet?” Bucky asked, eyes glued to Steve’s chest. Steve fought the urge to cover himself up like he was a maiden protecting his virtue.

“There was a fire.” He said flippantly. “Pietro, where is your sister?”   


“I’m allowed to out without Wanda.” Pietro spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“A fire?” Bucky asked incredulously. 

“Okay, but I’ve literally never seen you without her.” Steve said, and Pietro sighed, relaxing. He had just started T, which left him with a quick temper. 

“She’s out on a date.” He grumbled, uncrossing his arms. 

“With who?” Steve asked, putting his bag down and taking off his tie. 

“Some SoundCloud rapper.” Pietro said, rolling his eyes. “Some dude called ‘Vision’” He told them, making air quotes. 

“There was a fire?” Bucky asked again, looking in between Steve and Pietro.

Steve held up his thumb and forefinger. “A little bit.” 

“A little bit.” Bucky repeated drily. 

“‘The Vision’. How pretentious is that?” said Pietro, throwing his hands up. 

“Are there regularly fires at your job?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

“Honey, we’re home!” Sam called from the door. 

“In the kitchen!” Steve called back, excited to spend time with actual adults. 

Sam walked into the kitchen clutching grocery bags and wearing a ridiculous pair of cat-eye sunglasses.

“What are you wearing.” Steve asked flatly. 

“Dude, these were 50 cents. I wasn’t gonna pass up that opportunity.” He said, setting the canvas bags down on the counter. Natasha walked into the kitchen carrying twice as many grocery bags as Sam was, and wearing matching pair of sunglasses. She set the bags down and looked at Pietro.

“Where’s Wanda?” She asked and Pietro huffed exasperatedly, making talcum powder fly everywhere. 

“She’s on a date with The Vision.” Steve said. 

“A who with the what now?” Sam asked.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve said, waving him off. He grabbed a bag, taking out produce and handing it to Natasha. 

“He calls himself an artist of the spoken word.” Pietro complained, dusting baby powder off of his shirt. 

“Tell her I want my jacket back.” Natasha told Pietro, shutting the refrigerator door. 

Pietro muttered something in Sokovian and took his phone out, texting furiously. 

“Are you free for lunch tomorrow?” Bucky asked out of the blue, reaching forward to snatch an apple out of Steve’s hand. 

“I… what?” Steve asked, incredulous. 

“Are you free. For lunch. Tomorrow.” Bucky repeated, looking Steve dead in the eye. He took a bite of the apple and juice ran past his lips and down his forearm. 

“I am going to- I've got stuff to do in the other room.” Sam said suddenly, pushing himself off the counter. “Tasha?” 

“What?” She asked nonchalantly, eyes flirting between Steve and Bucky. 

“Stuff. We have to do stuff. In the other room.” He said forcefully, tugging on her arm. 

“Can you do the stuff by yourself?” She inquired, standing firm. 

“No, your involvement is very vital in the doing of the stuff in the other room.” Sam said, foregoing the debate and picking Natasha up like a disobedient child. 

“Fine.” She pouted, wrapping her legs around Sam’s waist and letting him carry her away. 

“Yeah, I'm gonna go home.” Pietro said, standing. “Thanks for the tip, man. It was nice meeting you.” He grabbed his binder and fled.

Steve thumbed through his schedule on his phone. “My break is from noon to 1:00, why?” 

Bucky smirked, leaning over the table. “Wanna get lunch with me?” 

All Steve could manage was a nod.

Bucky grinned, a real, genuine grin. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. 

  
He tasted like apples. 


	4. A Good-Looking Burglar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> past Brock/Bucky is mentioned in this chapter, as well as implied past abuse.
> 
> Stay safe, friends.

Steve and Bucky slept in different beds that night. Bucky and Sam had made up the pull-out couch under the watchful eye of Natasha. Steve had felt strangely restless all night, tossing and turning over the cold spaces of his bed.

When he woke, he was cozy and content, hesitant to get out of the comfortable space he occupied. He turned, throwing his arm around the warm torso next to him.  The body shifted under him, and he got a face full of long, dark hair. He spluttered, trying to get the hair out of his mouth, batting it away. 

“Ow, what the fuck.” Bucky flung his arms out, catching Steve in the gut. 

Steve caught his wrists, laughing. “Bucky, Bucky, hey” 

Bucky stop fighting him, and looked up. “Oh. It's you.” He said, then rested his head on Steve’s chest. 

“Good morning.” Steve said, bringing a hand down on the top of Bucky’s head. “When did you get here?” 

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Around 3? Your bed is much more comfortable than the sleeper sofa.” Steve huffed and laid back down, tugging Bucky down with him. 

Bucky landed on Steve’s chest, cheek pressed against Steve’s heartbeat. His hands trailed over Steve’s stomach, fingertips cold against Steve’s skin. 

“I’ve gotta get ready for work.” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s scalp. 

“Mmpf.” Bucky replied, burrowing closer into Steve’s side.

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s back. 

Steve listened as Bucky’s breathing slowed and felt as his eyelashes fluttered. His limbs became sleep-heavy and warm.  Steve felt himself get lulled back into the pull of sleep.

* * *

 

_ “Get the fuck up, Get the fuck up.”  _ His alarm rang, and Steve felt a hot murderous rage for Tony Stark. He opened his eyes. The sun was higher in the sky, and the rays of lights coming from the window temporarily blinded him. 

“Ugh.” Bucky grunted, pawing at the side table. 

“I got it, I got it.” Steve sighed, fumbling for his phone and shutting off the alarm. 

“Whyyyyy.” Bucky groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

“I’ve gotta go to work.” Steve explained, sitting up. “Because I have to make money. So that when pretty boys steal my wallet, they can eat.” He stood, pulling on some pants. 

“Unfair.” Bucky whined, rolling over to watch Steve dress. 

“Yep,” Steve said, buttoning his shirt. “Where are we meeting?”

“What?” Bucky asked, eyes glued Steve’s torso. 

“For our date. Where are we meeting?” Steve repeated, snapping his fingers in front of Bucky’s face to get his attention. “Stop objectifying me when I'm trying to coordinate our schedule.”

Bucky smirked at him, a downright filthy look. “Oh yeah, you keep coordinating those schedules, baby.” 

“Bucky, please.” Steve tried. Having his day organized was very important to him. 

“I'll just pick you up at Stark Tower.” Bucky drawled. “Your break is at noon, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s- wait.” Steve stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Did Natasha tell you?”

Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I googled you. Apparently you're a big deal art guy. Your boss was on Forbes’ list of the world’s most powerful women in 2016. Your other boss is an eccentric billionaire with a giant fuck-off building in the middle of Manhattan.”

Steve laughed, grinning at Bucky. “Yeah, that's them.”

Bucky cocked his head. “How come you couldn't tell me what it is you do?” 

Steve sighed, slipping his cardigan on. “Tony Stark makes all of his employees sign NDAs. Guy’s paranoid as all hell.” 

Bucky smiled up at him, reaching for Steve’s hand. “I'll pick you up at 12.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve's knuckles. 

Steve felt himself blush, incredibly charmed at the motion. Bucky beamed at him, achingly sweet. 

“I- I’ll see you then.” Steve said, stepping backwards. 

He fled passed the kitchen and out of the door. He could get breakfast on the way to work.

* * *

 

Steve spent his work day with a strange kind of giddiness. He whistled as he sorted through Pepper’s hate mail. He sat through one of Pepper’s board meetings practically bouncing in his chair. He couldn’t focus, his attention was haywire. He kept glancing at the clock. Every chance his thoughts had to wander, they did. He felt like a schoolboy, or like Stark. 

“What’s going on with you today, Steve?” Pepper asked, reading through the Hammer Tech file. “You’re all over the place.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Steve apologized, feeling admonished. He was going through his emails, looking at various offers from art dealers. He wasn’t paying them the attention they deserved, he thought. He felt guilty, for good art should always appreciated. “My mind is somewhere else.”

Pepper put down the file, interested. “Your thief?” She asked.

“We’re going on a date.” Steve explained, sheepish. “I’m kind of excited.” 

“Oh, that’s sweet, where are you going?” She asked, setting the file aside. Steve knew that the Hammer deal has been a massive pain in her ass, and it was clear that she was looking for any possible distraction. 

“I’m not sure.” Steve replied, scratching the back of his neck. “He just said he would pick me up during my break.”

“Steve!” Pepper sighed, exasperated. 

“What?”

“That’s in five minutes!” She said, gesturing at her watch. Steve checked his phone and sure enough, it was five minutes until noon. He also had a series of texts from an unknown number.

 

_ yoooooo its bucky _

_ natalia gave me ur number _

_ anyway im in the lobby _

_ ready when u are _

 

Steve replied with a quick ‘ _ I’ll be right down’  _ and looked to Pepper. “He’s in the lobby, can I-”

“Go, go.” Pepper said, waving him off. “I’ll probably still be here by the time you get back.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a fancy glass tupperware containing a quinoa salad. She was on a super-food kick. 

Steve thanked her and shut his laptop. He headed for the elevator, trying not to break into an all-out run. 

He got to the lobby and immediately spotted Bucky. He was leaning against one of the walls, casual as can be. His hair was messily braided into a bun, and he was wearing one of Natasha’s shirts; the black crop-top that said ‘Feminist Killjoy” on the front. His navel was exposed, and Steve could see the v of his hips. His ass was being hugged by a pair of purple yoga pants that Steve thought might have been Clint's. He looked downright delectable.  

“Hey,” Steve said, clearing his throat. 

“Steve, hi.” Bucky said, standing up straight and pushing a stray strand behind his ear. He looked at Steve and his grin widened. “You, uh,” He gestured at Steve’s face.

Steve’s hand flew to his glasses. “Oh, I forgot I was wearing these,” He stammered, starting to flush. “They’re just for reading, I can-” He started to pull them off, but Bucky caught his hand, pulling it down and intertwining their fingers.

“No, I-” Bucky stopped, and his cheeks colored. “They’re nice.” He squeezed Steve’s hand. “I like them.” 

“Uh, thanks. Thank you.” Steve said, self-consciously pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh man, we gotta go.” Bucky said, leaning down. He picked up a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on.” He said, pulling Steve along by the hand. 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, letting Bucky pull him out of the building and onto the New York streets. 

“Well, I’m gonna take you to lunch, but I’ve got a few errands I gotta run first. You know the fastest way to Tribeca from here?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Steve said. “Turn here, you’re gonna want to take the F.” 

They took the short trip to Tribeca, getting off at Franklin Street. “This way.” Bucky said, tugging Steve by the hand. He took Steve down several blocks, finally turning into an alleyway between two apartment buildings. 

“Yeah, we’re here.” Bucky said, glancing up. 

“What?” Steve asked, confused. “Where?” He looked around at their surroundings. The only notable things he could see were a dumpster and a sizable rat.

“Here, give me a boost.” Bucky said, slinging his duffle over his shoulder. 

“What?” Steve asked again, unsure of what Bucky wanted.

“I need a boost. To the ladder.” Bucky said, motioning to the fire escape.

“Um, okay.” Steve answered. He held his hands out in a cup, and Bucky placed his foot in it, and lifted himself with his hands on Steve’s shoulders. He grabbed one of the rungs of the latter and pulled himself up. He started climbing, and Steve couldn’t help but watch. 

“Are you looking at my ass?” He asked, looking down at Steve.

“No.” Steve lied, and Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry.” Steve said, looking away.

Bucky climbed to the first balcony. He undid the pin, and the latter fell to the ground with a jarring clang. 

“Come on.” Bucky said, waving Steve up. 

“Why are we climbing up this fire escape?” Steve asked, gripping one of the rungs. 

“I’ve gotta get my stuff.” Bucky said.

“Your stuff?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, not really giving him an answer.

Bucky continued climbing and Steve shrugged, figuring he might as well follow. He climbed up the cold fire escape, trailing Bucky all the way to the third balcony. 

Steve caught up with him, breathing heavily. He used inhaler, waving off Bucky’s concern. “‘m fine.” He said, trying to regulate his air intake. Bucky rubbed his back, looking worried. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, pocketing his inhaler. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.” 

“Okay.” Bucky said, nodding. He squeezed the back of Steve’s neck gently. “Okay.” He repeated. “Brace yourself.” He told Steve.

Steve couldn’t ask him what for before Bucky opened his duffle, pulled out a brick, and threw it at the window. They both jumped when the glass shattered. 

“Why did you do that?!” Steve whisper-shouted. 

“I have to get my stuff!” Bucky explained in the same tone. 

He reached through the broken window and unlocked it, careful not to cut himself on the glass. Then he withdrew his and and slid the window open. 

He ducked through the opening into the apartment, then held his hand out, helping Steve climb inside. 

“Who’s apartment did we just break into?” Steve asked, feeling the need to keep his voice low in the wake of his brand new criminal career. 

“Brock’s” Bucky said, opening his duffle bag. 

“Who’s Brock?” Steve asked, nudging broken glass to the side with his shoe. 

“My ex.” Bucky sighed, walking to one of the rooms. 

Steve followed him. “And we’re breaking into your ex’s apartment because-?” 

“All of my stuff is here.” Bucky explained with a shrug. He opened one of the dresser drawers and started pulling out clothes, stuffing them in his bag.  He found his wallet and offered Steve 30 dollars cash in reparations for Steve’s stolen money. 

Steve had held up a hand and said, “Buy me lunch and we’ll be even.”

Bucky canvassed the room, putting various trinkets and things into his bag. His phone, a watch, all of his clothes, other assorted knick-knacks, and a photograph of a young dark haired boy smiling with his hands being held sullen red-headed teenage girl and a sandy haired teenage boy with a broken nose. 

“Holy shit is that you and Natasha?” Steve asked, peering over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, and Clint.” Bucky said, tapping the image of the sandy-haired boy. “This was right before Nick adopted them.” He was smiling fondly at the picture. 

“I didn't even know that Clint was in the system.” Steve breathed. 

“Yeah, not big in sharing; those two.” Bucky said, tucking the picture carefully inside the bag. 

Steve followed Bucky through the apartment as he went through each room, searching for all of his belongings. He even looked in the fridge, cursing when he realized that his take-out had been eaten.

When he was finally satisfied that he had everything, he reached into one of the pockets of the duffle bag and pulled out a can of spray paint. 

“Woah, woah, woah. What are you doing?” Steve asked, stepping forward to stop him as Bucky started shaking the can. 

“I thought that’d be fairly obvious.” Bucky said as he started spraying the wall. 

“Okay, I was fine with the breaking and entering and the robbery, because it's your stuff. I mean, I don't get why you couldn't have just talked it out, but fine, whatever. But vandalism? Isn't that a bit excessive? I mean, what did this Brock guy ever do to you?” 

Bucky turned away from where “ASSHOLE” was dripping in red paint on the opposite wall.

 

Instead of saying anything, Bucky looked Steve in the eye and lifted up his shirt, revealing the mottled bruises underneath. 

 


	5. Steve's Pickpocket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I was out of town for the holidays and I didn't have wifi. Also, how good was Rouge One????????
> 
> ily guys.

_ “It’s fine, Steve. I’m used to it.”   _ Bucky’s voice rang in his head, echoing Steve’s own words. As if Steve’s asthma and the marks on Bucky’s skin were even slightly on the same level. After they had climbed out of Brock’s apartment, Steve had tried to apologize profusely, afraid to touch Bucky. Bucky had waved off his concern by saying “ _ It’s fine, Steve. I’m used to it.”  _  As if the knowledge that Bucky was accustomed to abuse would assuage Steve’s mounting turmoil. 

Steve’s need to make the situation better must have been apparent, because Bucky had taken Steve’s hand and squeezed.  _ “Seriously, Rogers, let it go.”  _  Steve has frowned, not sure of what to do, then offered to take Bucky’s bag. Bucky had smiled and slipped it off his shoulder, handing it to Steve. It was heavy, but it made Steve feel somewhat better, being able to do something. 

Bucky had stopped at a halal cart, buying Steve a gyro wrap and chicken shawarma for himself. They got on the subway, and Bucky insisted on pointing out various passengers, making observations and wild guesses about them and their lives through mouthfuls of food. Steve couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s imaginings got more and more outrageous. 

Bucky had dropped Steve off at Stark Tower with a chaste kiss, taking his duffle and squeezing Steve’s hand in a silent goodbye. 

Now, Steve was sitting in Pepper’s office, going over Bucky’s words.  _ “It's fine, Steve. I'm used to it.”  _  Somehow, that statement was more concerning than the myriad of bruises along Bucky’s side.

 

“Steve?” Pepper called, breaking Steve out of his daze. 

“Yes?” Steve asked, looking up to see Pepper frowning at him.    


“Are you okay?” Pepper asked. “I kept calling your name, but you were completely zoned out.” 

Steve sat up and tried smile reassuringly at her. “Yeah, sorry. I was somewhere else.” He waved a dismissive hand. “What’s up?”

“Tony wants you to come to this thing in a few weeks.” Pepper said, rolling her eyes as she said Stark’s name. “It’s a gala to celebrate the Stark/Hammer deal. I’ve have go because I’m the CEO and Tony’s going because there's never been a party that he didn’t crash. Anyway, Tony wants you to come.” She held out an invitation, and Steve looked at it. It certainly wasn’t a Stark Industries event. 

“Hammer’s hosting this party?” Steve asked, taking the piece of paper. Something about Justin Hammer always made Stark twitchy. 

“Yeah,” Pepper said, taking her tablet from her desk. “Anyway, enough about work.  How was your date?”

“It was…” Steve trailed off. “Weird.” He decided on. 

“What did you guys do?” Pepper asked, absentmindedly tapping away at her tablet. 

Steve cringed, thinking of Bucky throwing a brick through the window. “Um, we got halal food.” His head started spinning with anxious nightmare scenarios, suddenly terrified of the police showing up at his apartment and throwing him in prison. 

The phone on Pepper’s desk rang and he jumped. She picked it up with a clipped, “This is Pepper Potts.” 

The voice on the other line started talking and Pepper rolled her eyes. “Tony, this is my work line. If you want to talk to me, call me on my cell.”

Tony squawked over the phone and Pepper held the phone away from her ear, wincing. 

“Tony,” she sighed. “Get Rhodey of you can't-” she sat down at her desk, bringing a hand to pinch the bride of her nose. 

Steve grabbed his own phone, rapidly thinking through the worst case scenarios. 

 

**_‘What if he calls the police????_ ** **’** He texted Bucky, wondering if the thief had any plan at all beyond getting his stuff.

_ lmao I was wondering when you'd text me  _

_ he won’t  _

_ call the cops i mean _

Steve frowned at the texts. **‘** _**Why?? We broke into his house and painted profanity on his wall.’** _ He sent.

_ “profanity” lol you're so cute  _

_ he won't press charges  _

_ and if he does, we have an alibi  _

**_‘We do????’_ ** Steve asked. 

_ yeah we were out on a date.  _

_ Abdul, the guy from the halal cart, will vouch for us _

_ i bet you even have it written down on your calendar. _

Steve guiltily looked down at his desk planner where  **_Lunch w/ JBB_ ** !!! was written under his 12-1 slot. 

**‘ _I do not’_** Steve sent anyway. 

_ haha yes you do you, dork.  _

_ anyway, we’re safe. brock won't try anything unless he wants a rather hefty DV case on his hands.  _

Steve felt his stomach drop, faced with the reminder of Bucky’s nonchalant dismissal of his injuries. 

_ aren't you supposed to be working?  _ Bucky sent. 

_ ‘ **Yeah, but my boss is distracted’** _ Steve shot back, thankful for the subject change. 

_ oooo a bad boy nice  _ Bucky texted, and Steve snorted. 

The noise made Pepper look up from her call and raise an eyebrow.  “You know,” Pepper drawled as Steve quickly texted **‘** **_Aw shit I've been caught. Ttyl.’_ **

_ lol rip  _ Bucky sent.

“The owner of Ben's owes me a favor.” Pepper said, tone light. 

“What?” Steve asked, pocketing his phone. 

“Ben's. It's a five star restaurant in Brooklyn. The head chef was on one of those cooking competition shows you like. May Porter or something like that.”

“May Parker?” Steve asked, alert. May Parker had been on Top Chef and was robbed of first place by some douchey Californian hipster with white boy dreads and a neck tattoo. 

“Yeah, sure.” Pepper said, thumbing through her rolodex. “Anyway, Tony hired her nephew as an intern a few months back and she said to stop by anytime. I haven't gotten around to it yet, but if you make reservations in my name, you could definitely get in.” She handed him a card with a number and address on it. He stared down at it dumbly. 

“I don't, um. What?” He asked, slightly dumbfounded. 

“Take your pickpocket there.” She said, tapping at the card. “Have a nice dinner. My treat.”

“Pepper, I really can't-” Steve protested. 

“Oh hush,” Pepper scolded. “I like seeing you happy, Steve. And if this boy makes you happy, so be it.” 

“Wow Pepper, that's really- thanks.” Steve managed, knowing that he was blushing a beet red. 

“Just consider it payback for the next insane thing Tony asks you to do.”    
  


Steve was sent home at a reasonable time. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder periodically, still paranoid that the police would show up and arrest him at any time. He ducked in a pizza shop at one point because he heard sirens, and ended up buying three pizzas to take home. 

 

“About time,” Natasha groaned as he walked in the door, swooping down on him immediately. “I'm starved.” She bereaved him of his pizza, already opening the top box and eating out of it. 

“One of us needs to learn how to cook.” Steve stated, following her into the kitchen. 

“Hey, I cook!” Sam protested, mouth full of pizza. 

“Something other than breakfast food.” Steve added, slipping off his bag and sitting at the table. 

Sam shrugged and picked up a second slice. 

“Pizza?” Clint asked, sticking his head out of Natasha and Sam’s bedroom. 

“Has he left?” Steve asked as Clint perched on one of their chairs, reaching for a piece of pizza. 

“I do have a job,” Clint complained, grease dripping down his chin. 

“He has not to my knowledge, left this apartment today.” Natasha said primly, reaching over to dab at Clint’s face with a napkin.  

“What is your job, anyway, Clint?” Steve asked, opening the second box. 

“I do this and that.” Clint said, batting Natasha’s hands away. 

Steve frowned, about to question ask another question when Sam interrupted. 

“Pineapple, really, dude?” 

“I just got what they had, man.” Steve shrugged. 

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Steve dove under the table, paranoia spiking. “If it's the police, I'm already in Canada!” He called. 

“Steve, what the fuck.” Sam sighed. 

Steve heard heavy footsteps and the sound of the door opening. 

“Steve, it's okay! It's just Bucky.” Clint called, and Steve stuck his head out from under the table and looks up to see Bucky, wearing a comfortable looking sweatshirt and jeans combo, looking down at Steve with concern. 

“Why are you under the table?” He asked, crouching down. 

“He seemed to think you were the police coming to take him away.” Natasha drawled, hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

Bucky stood and helped Steve to his feet. “I told you not to worry about the police.” 

“Why are either of y'all worried about the police?” Sam asked, crossing his arms and looking motherly. 

“I had to get my stuff.” Bucky answered. “Ooh, pizza?” 

He grabbed a slice and sat on the kitchen counter, feet dangling off the edge. 

“What did you do?” Natasha asked, hopping up on the counter next to him. She sat cross-legged and her voice held no threat of judgment. She leaned into Bucky’s side and he leaned back. The easy camaraderie was interesting to watch, like something off of discovery channel. Natasha, the mother wolf scruffing her pup. 

“I had to break into Brock’s apartment to get my stuff.” Bucky explained, taking a bite of his pizza. 

“Rumlow?” Natasha asked, glancing sidelong at Clint and Sam. Her expression didn't change at the name, and her voice was light, but there was a dangerous tension coiled in her muscles. 

“The very same.” Bucky sighed, taking another slice. 

“I thought you were done with him,” Clint said, sounding sterner than Steve has ever heard him. 

“Yeah, me too.” Bucky sighed. “Apparently I have a shocking lack of self respect when it comes to the men I date.” He glanced up at Steve. “‘Cept you, Steve. You seem great so far.”

Steve gave a wan smile, feeling sick. Natasha shot him a  _ look _ and he could feel Clint and Sam’s eyes on his back.

“Anyway,” Bucky sighed, shrugging off the heaviness of the conversation. “We have nothing to worry about.” He looked at Steve, raising an eyebrow. 

After everyone had eaten and they had turned on the TV (Natasha was currently making everyone binge  _ The Wire  _ with her), Steve had snuck off to his bedroom to make a phone call.  

He needed to clear his head, to talk to someone who didn’t know Bucky or his situation. His confidant of choice was his old neighbor and pseudo-aunt, Peggy. He’d grown up next to Peggy and her wife, Angie. Peggy had been an old friend of his mother’s, and when she died the Martinelli-Carters had taken him in.

“Is that you, Steve? My, I thought you had fallen off the face of the earth with how little you call.” Peggy answered, words scolding but tone light. 

“Hi Pegs. Sorry, I’ve been busy.” He said, smiling gratefully. He’s missed her. 

“Tony hasn’t been running you too ragged, I hope? I will have words with him if you need me to.”

Peggy had gotten Steve his job with Stark. She had known Howard Stark when they were younger. She held the same motherly affection for Tony as she held for him and Sharon. 

“No, he’s a good boss. Or as good as he can be, I guess.” Steve replied, leaning against his headboard. “How are you and Angie?” He asked, and listened happily as Peggy chattered on about the off-Broadway show that Angie’s directing and the Alaskan cruise that they’re planning to take over the summer. 

“What is it that's bothering you, my dear?” She finally asked, and he adjusted his grip on the phone. 

“Why would assume something's wrong?” He asked, voice light. 

Peggy made no sound, and somehow her silence was judgmental. 

“So I have this friend,” Steve started. 

“Oh, Steve. What have you done this time?” Peggy sighed. 

_ “So I have this friend,”  _ Steve repeated, voice hard.   
  
They talked through the night, Peggy giving sage advice with Angie cutting in with her usual Devil’s advocate argument. Peggy said ‘follow your heart’ and Angie said ‘don’t date people to try to fix them’ and the two of them argued while Steve listened, fond and considering. He wants this. Someone to easily bicker with. Someone who can always be there for him. Someone to go on Alaskan cruises with. Maybe, just maybe, that someone could be Bucky.


	6. Street Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, almost glacially, Bucky started to drift closer to Steve, leaning against him one molecule at a time until Steve draped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the longest wait ever. I...... don't even have an excuse. 
> 
> There is some triggery content in this chapter as we learn some of Bucky's backstory. I've put the warnings in the end notes. Stay safe friends.

The next night, Bucky and Natasha were painting each other’s nails while Steve and Sam watched the game. It was easy and domestic and it left Steve with a warm feeling in his chest. Clint came over, dragging Kate and America along with him. They loudly complained about about baseball, purposely rooted for the wrong team and obnoxiously asked questions about the game that they already knew the answers to until Sam sighed and flipped the channel to one of the Real Housewives variations. 

Natasha pressed into Sam’s side on the couch and Clint perched on the back of the couch, his feet laying in their laps. America and Kate were curled together on the recliner, which was really only meant to sit one person. Bucky sat next to Natasha, and they were blowing on their nails delicately, trying to get the paint to dry. Slowly, almost glacially, Bucky started to drift closer to Steve, leaning against him one molecule at a time until Steve draped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

All of the comfortable couples (and triples) were startled by the door banging open and Pietro storming in, followed by a furious looking Wanda. 

The hormones he was taking made Pietro quick to anger, and Wanda was usually his calm, soothing counterpart. There was only one thing that could make Wanda look that angry. A call from their parents.

“God, I hate them! Wanda darling, when are you and your sister coming home? Oh, Penelope, when are you going to stop dressing like that? Doctor Vasiliev says that playing sports with all those boys has confused you, perhaps you should stop running …” He trailed off into fierce  Sokovian curses and Wanda grabbed his hand.

“Fucking dickbags.” She agreed, pulling him further into the living room.

They sat on the ground, still visibly fuming. Everyone exchanged a look, familiar with this sort of scene.

“Vietnamese?” Sam suggested, knowing it was Pietro's favorite, and there was a murmur of agreement. Sam pulled out his phone and asked for everyone’s orders. 

When the food finally got there, Kate jumped up to answer the door. “I’ll get it.” She called, pulling cash out of her wallet. 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, knowing that Kate’s job at the martial arts center paid peanuts. 

She nodded. “My dad’s trying to get back into my good graces again, so I’ve got more money that I know what to do with.” 

She opened the door to a pimply faced young girl, who grinned when she saw Kate. “Hey,” she greeted, handing her the bag of food. “ _ Tôi đã không bao giờ nhìn thấy bạn xung quanh trước khi. Cậu từ quanh đây không?”  _

Kate blushed and thrust the money at her. “I, um, I don’t-” 

“Oh, sorry.” The girl said, counting the cash. “I thought you were…” She trailed off and smiled. “Thanks.” 

He left and Kate came back into the living room with arms full of food. “Damn, I really gotta learn Vietnamese.” She sighed, passing out the food.”All these sweet old men coming up and talking to me like they’re my  _ Ông  _ and now the delivery girl,” She sighed, embarrassed. 

America pulled her down onto the armchair, wrapping her arm around Kate’s slender waist. 

“You’ll get there, babe.” She muttered against her hair and Kate sighed again, burrowing into America’s side. 

They passed around the the take-out boxes. Sam, as always, struggled with the chopsticks but refused to take a fork. Steve happily used european cutlery without complaint, embracing his overwhelming whiteness.

This scene was familiar enough, everyone strewn across each other, eating whatever food was cheap and delivered. Kate and America giggled to themselves about something, Clint badgered Sam and Natasha for their food, the Maximoffs bickered and ate from each other’s orders. Steve usually sat through these motions with a sort of quiet fondness in his chest, glad for his friends. This time, however, he and Bucky shared their  bánh mì and their bun bo nam bo, making pointed observations about the others. Bucky tried to teach Steve how to use the chopsticks, and Steve got so caught up in Bucky’s hand on his that he forgot to protest that it was hopeless. 

Clint fell asleep first, his head in Sam’s lap and his feet in Natasha’s. Wanda was next, face pressed unattractively into Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro was a close third, because the twins always did everything together. America and Kate went home before they could be fourth and fifth, leaving the honor to Sam and Natasha. Within 20 minutes, Steve and Bucky were the only ones awake. 

“Jesus, they are getting old.” Bucky snickered, moving Natasha’s sleep-heavy arm off of his shoulder. “I remember when Nat and Clint could pull all-nighters for an entire week and only barely hallucinate. Now they can’t stay awake past 11? Weak.” 

Steve snickered. He absent-mindedly ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “When did you meet them?”

Bucky hummed, leaning into Steve’s touch. “Nat was 14 and Clint was 15. I was 11. I was staying with this guy, Alexander.” He stopped for a second and picked at a stray string on Steve’s shirt. “Alexander Pierce.” 

Steve could feel the conversation straying into non-happy territory. He paused his ministrations on Bucky’s hair and Bucky made a small sound of protest, so Steve continued. 

“He was…” Bucky shook his head. “And then he fostered them. The system wouldn’t separate them. They've been together since they were really little, and they would always run away if they got separated. And so they came to stay with me and when they found out what he was doing to me…” 

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“So we left. Clint, Nat, and I. Clint was a serial runaway and Nat had been on the street before she got picked up. And I just had to get out. So we ran.

“We were on our own for a year and a half. It was so much fun. We squatted in some buildings, stayed at some shelters. We were such a great team. Clint taught me how to pickpocket and Natalia taught me how to run a con. I made an excellent street kid, and the three of us made an adorable little band of thieves, so of course we ended up getting caught.” Bucky smiled, but there was something sad about it. 

“Nat and Clint got arrested for breaking and entering. I was there too of course, but they had me hide.” Bucky chuckled. “We broke into the house of a retired army general named Nick Fury.” 

“Wait… Nick?” Steve asked. “Like, Nick, scary dad figure, eyepatch Nick?” 

Bucky nodded. “He dropped the charges and ended up adopting Natalia and Clint. He wanted to get me too, but the state wanted me in a facility for young survivors of, of sexual abuse. Said that he could adopt me when I was ‘recovered’. Whatever that means. Anyway, I got to see them every weekend. We’re family.” 

Bucky smiled and glanced over at where Nat and Clint were sleeping. 

“So how did Sam factor in?” Steve asked, not wanting to touch on the veritable land mine of Bucky’s past trauma. 

“I met Sam when they started dating him. I mean Clint and Nat had been sweethearts since the womb, and they were never not gonna be together, but there was something missing from their relationship. A steadiness. Maturity. I don't know. I was still in high school when this handsome and emotionally stable Air Force captain quite literally crash landed in their lives. But they way he immediately clicked with them, it was like fate.”

“Literally crash landed?” Steve asked. 

Bucky waved him off. “Story for another time.” 

Wanda jerked awake with a snort, accidentally head-butting her brother. 

“Ow, Wanda, what the fuck?” Pietro hissed, grabbing his nose.

“Shit, sorry!” She yelped, rubbing at her forehead. 

“Wassgoinon?” Clint slurred, tumbling off the couch. 

“Go to your rooms, all of you.” Sam yawned, shooing away Clint and the twins. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Carry me.” Clint demanded, throwing himself on Sam’s legs. 

Sam just sighed and stood from the couch. He had Natasha on his back, ostensibly asleep. “I’m going to bed and I’m taking my future wife with me. If anybody else would like to join, they have to do so of their own volition.” 

With that, Sam walked off, carrying Natasha in piggyback. Clint groaned and got to his feet to stumble after them. 

The twins collected themselves enough to walk the 10 feet to their own apartment. They cursed at each other in broken english and didn’t stop to say goodnight. Steve shook his head at them.

“Children.” 

Steve felt Bucky tugging at his hand. He looked over to see him grinning at him fondly. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Bucky said with a smirk, and Steve raised his eyebrows.

“Bed?” Steve asked, and Bucky scoffed, smacking his arm. 

“Just for sleep, you naughty boy. I’m dating you now, remember? I’m a classy lady, Steven. I don’t put out until the third date. Or until you buy me something expensive.” 

Steve snorted and looped his arm around Bucky’s waist. He pressed his lips against Bucky’s ear and tried to growl in his sexiest voice. “I’m gonna cuddle you so hard.”

“Oh, yeah” Bucky breathed. “Cuddle me until I forget my name.”    
They walked to bed giggling like schoolchildren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:   
> In this chapter, Bucky discusses being fostered by Alexander Pierce. It is implied that Pierce sexually abused him during this time. Don't worry, Natasha and Clint save him. 
> 
> In case anyone was wondering about ages in this fic:  
> Steve is 28  
> Bucky is 25  
> Natasha is 28  
> Clint is 29  
> Sam is 30  
> Kate is 21   
> America is 22  
> Wanda and Pietro are 19


	7. Troubled Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just…” Steve sighed, wanting to say something other than _‘I learned about Bucky’s tragic past and now I want to make a blanket fort and protect him from the world’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one is kinda short

Steve called the maitre’d of Ben's six times. He only hung up five times out of nerves before she answered on the first ring.

“Listen, if this is the guy who keeps calling and hanging up, it's not funny and we’re blocking your number.”

“Uh, I'm sorry, this is Pepper Potts’ assistant.” Steve said, panicked, and for some reason doing a fake accent.

“Oh! Wow. I'm so sorry sir. This is Ben's. I'm Gwen, the maitre’d. How can I help you?”

“Uh, yes can I have a table for two on Friday?” He asked, starting to pace.

“Of course, sir. What time?”

“Six.” He said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

“What’s the name?”

“Uh, Rogers.”

“And would you like the Chef’s Table?”

“The-” Steve stopped himself before his voice cracked. He had to clear his throat. “No, I don't think that will be necessary, Gwen, thank you.”

“Alright, sir. Thank you for calling Ben's. We’ll see you on Friday. Goodbye, now.” Gwen hung up and Steve breathed out a sigh of relief. He pulled out his phone and typed the reservation into his calendar.

He’s excited about this date. He’s wanted to go to Ben's since it opened, but more than that, he’s excited to treat Bucky to a fancy dinner. Since their conversation the day before, Steve’s had visions of giving Bucky nice things. Of wrapping him up in a blanket and making him a hot chocolate. Of brushing his hair and knitting him sweaters. Of knowing all of his favorite movies and TV shows and watching them with him. Of learning every single thing about him. Of doing things that he hates but Bucky loves, just to see him smile. Of kissing every inch of him, of taking him gently until he’s shuddering. Of eating him out until he’s boneless and whimpering.

Steve looked down at the obvious tent in his pants and sighed. He hasn’t been this stupid about somebody since he was skinny and awkward in high school and head over heels for Sharon. Even then, his fantasies were mostly sexual and romantic, not this domestic fluffiness that he’s feeling for Bucky. Maybe that’s what happens when you start to get older. Or maybe it’s just how Bucky makes him feel.

Steve walked out into the kitchen to see Sam, reading something on his StarkPad. He was the only one home, Natasha at work and Bucky and Clint were god knows where. Sam worked as a counsellor at the local VA, but he usually only worked mornings and evenings. Steve had the day off, because Pepper had flown to Italy for the day. She was a keynote speaker for a conference for women in the workplace.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asked, putting down his tablet.

“Do you love Natasha and Clint?” Steve bursted out, and Sam’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, yeah.” Sam said, frowning. “Yeah, I do.”

“When you first met them, what was it like?” Steve asked, feeling slightly like a little kid asking his parents about love.

A smile touched Sam’s lips and he looked down. “For a while, I thought they were angels.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Which is funny because I was the one who fell from the sky.”

Steve tilted his head. “You know, I’ve never heard the story of how the three of you met.” He said, going for casual. He’s rapidly realizing that there’s a lot that Steve doesn’t know about his roommates.

“They saved my life. I was on assignment in Afghanistan and I, I crashed in the middle of the desert. There should’ve been no one around for miles. I should’ve died there. Instead, these two beautiful white kids dragged me from the wreckage, nursed me back to health. I was badly hurt and I just kept thinking that I had died and that I was in Heaven. I remember little things, like the color of Natahsa’s hair. Nothing is that bright in the desert. Or Clint’s rambling. He would just talk to me. I was barely conscious and he just wouldn’t shut up.” Sam laughed to himself, and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

“What were they doing in Afghanistan?” Steve asked.

Sam looked up and blinked. It took him a second to answer. “They were working with the Red Cross, at one of the refugee camps nearby.”

Steve frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. “Huh, I had no idea.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, those two keep it pretty close to their chests.”

Steve sat down across from Sam.

“What’s on your mind, Rogers?” Sam asked, sliding him a mug of coffee.

“Just…” Steve sighed, wanting to say something other than _‘I learned about Bucky’s tragic past and now I want to make a blanket fort and protect him from the world’_. “Bucky was telling me a little about growing up with Clint and Natasha."

Sam nodded like he understood. “Yeah, they had it pretty rough. Bucky was a pretty troubled kid when I first met him. Hell, so were Clint and Tasha.”

Sam was watching Steve with that quiet intensity that was so unique to him. Steve ducked his head, buying himself some time by taking a sip of coffee.

“I remember when I finally got the whole story.” Sam said finally. “I thought I was gonna start throwing hands.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Which is ridiculous, like Natasha and Clint couldn't take care of themselves, but…” he sighed, drumming his fingers against the table. “Love isn't rational.”

Steve nodded, still staring into his mug. Sam stood, clapping Steve on the shoulder, then continued down the hallway.

 

-

 

A week later, Steve was getting ready for his date with Bucky, frantically comparing two different button-up shirts.

“They're… identical.” America said, staring at where Steve was holding them to his chest.

“The one on the left is cerulean and the one on the right is cobalt.” Kate said, not looking up from her phone.

They were both sitting on his bed, witnessing his freak-out in real-time.

“What the fuck? They're both blue.” America asked, leaning forward.

“I still say you should go with the ginghamed one.” Kate said. “It pops better. Compliments your color.”

“Yeah,” America agreed, nodding. “Put the stripey one back on.”

Steve dropped his arms and obliged, going to grab the patterned shirt.

He held it up to himself and Kate started to nod, finally looking up from her phone. “Yeah. That's the one.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, turning around to look in his mirror. He pulled on the shirt and started buttoning it over his plain tank-top.

America whistled lowly. Steve turned around to see Kate grinning approvingly, brazenly checking him out.

“As a 100% homosexual woman, I have to tell you Steve, I’d hit that.” America said, and Steve blushed, fumbling with the buttons.

“Does it need a tie?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at his reflection.

“God no, no tie.” Kate said, standing and rummaging through Steve’s closet. “Do you have any navy sport coats?”

“Uh, no I don't think so.” Steve said, trying to see what she was doing. He tried to reach for a jacket but Kate simply slapped his hand away. She pulled out a black blazer and frowned.

“Well, it'll have to do.” She sighed, and motioned for Steve to turn around. She helped him into the jacket and casually brushed some lint off his shoulders.

Steve looked at reflection. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, but the clothes fit him well, and he couldn't deny that he looked good.

“There.” Kate said and America gave an exasperated sigh of relief.

“We’re done? Thank god.” She grabbed Kate by the wrist and started dragging her out the door. “We missed the first showing but if we’re lucky we can find a 5:30 movie that's not sold out yet.”

“That's in 10 minutes!” Kate protested.

“Yeah, so you better move it, princess.” America said.

They continued bickering until the front door slammed shut.

Steve chuckled to himself and looked back into the mirror. He startled when there was a knock at his door.

It was Natasha, peeking her head in. “You ready?” She asked, looking expectant.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Steve said. He did a little spin. “How do I look?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You look fine, Rogers. Now go on.” She made a shooing motion and Steve allowed her to herd him into the living room.

Clint and Sam sat eagerly on the couch, practically vibrating in their seats.

Bucky was on the other side of the room. His hair was braided in a messy updo. He was wearing a worn band tee-shirt with a nice jacket thrown over the top of it. He was blushing and holding a singular sunflower, which he wordlessly handed to Steve.  

“I…. thanks.” Steve said, accepting the flower and clutching it close to his chest. He and Bucky blushed incompetently at each other until Natasha sighed.

“Sam, go grab a vase.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Shall we?” Steve asked, offering his arm. Bucky smiled sheepishly and stepped forward, linking his arm through Steve’s.

Sam came back and put Steve’s flower in a collector’s McDonald’s glass. “It's the best we had.”

Clint insisted on taking pictures before they left, and eventually Bucky had to wrestle his phone away so that they could leave.

“We’re going!” Bucky announced, already pushing Steve out the door.  “Mom, Dad, Sam; don’t wait up.”


	8. Some Poor Queer Foster Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waiter swooped by, refilling their water glasses and leaving them a basket of bread. Bucky grabbed one of loaves and tore into it, groaning at the smell of warm bread.
> 
> “Ohmygod.” He said, mouth full. “You have to have some of this bread.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhh..... mind the rating change, y'all.

“So this place is nice? Like, really nice? Cloth napkins nice?” Bucky asked. They were taking an Uber, and Bucky was bouncing in his seat. They were holding hands, Bucky nervously drumming his fingers against Steve’s knuckles.

“Yeah. The owner was on Top Chef.” Steve told him, running his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Is that the one with Alton Brown?"

“Uh, no that's Iron Chef America.”

“Oh. With the puppets?”

“No, no that's Good Eats. It ended in 2012.”

“You watch a lot of cooking shows, huh?” Bucky asked, grinning.

“I’ve always wanted to be a good cook.” Steve said. “But every time I try to make something, it turns into a disaster. So I just stick to watching my shows.”

Bucky chuckled, biting his lip. “I’ll cook for you sometime. If you’re good, I’ll let you peel carrots.”

“You cook?” Steve asked, smiling.

“Yeah.” Bucky said. “I, uh, learned at the center. One of my doctors thought it would be therapeutic.”

The car pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant. The driver turned to smile at them. “Have a fun night, boys.”

They thanked her and walked into the restaurant. A perky blonde greeted them at the door.   

“Hi! I’m Gwen Stacy. Welcome to Ben's. Do you have a reservation?”

“Uh, yeah. Two for Rogers.” Steve glanced at Bucky. Bucky was gazing around out the room with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Right this way, sir.” Gwen said, guiding them to their table. Steve was halfway down the hallway before he realized that Bucky wasn’t following him.

“Uh, give me a sec.” Steve told Gwen, then jogged back to the hostess stand.

“Hey, Buck.” He grabbed Bucky’s hand to get his attention. Bucky startled and looked at him.

“Dude,” Bucky breathed. “This place is way too nice. How are you supposed to afford this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “We’re on my boss’ dime."

“I don’t want to bankrupt your boss!” Bucky whisper-shouted.

“My boss is a multi-millionaire who gave me this dinner as a gift for putting up with her mad scientist boyfriend. She’ll be fine.”

Bucky relaxed slightly at that, nodding in acceptance. Steve lead him by the hand to where Gwen was standing awkwardly.

“Uh, are you guys okay?” She asked, looking between them nervously.

“Yeah, just got caught up in all the beauty..” Bucky chuckled, flashing a charming grin.

Gwen blushed and smiled at him. “Your table,” She said, gesturing to a small corner table. She pulled out their chairs and did a small curtsy, obviously flustered. She handed them their menus and fled.

Steve watched Bucky marvel over the table decorations. He prodded at the candles, rubbed the table cloth between his fingers, appraised the cutlery, and pulled petals off the flower arrangement. (then promptly tried to stick them back on with a guilty look on his face)

“There easily has to be 200 dollars of stuff on each table.” Bucky said, eyes wide as he placed his napkin in his lap.

“Top Chef, I told you.” Steve said, reaching out across the table to take Bucky’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I just...I’ve just never been inside a building on the Upper East Side I haven’t robbed.” Bucky eyed the candlesticks and frowned. “Yet.”

“Please don’t.” Steve asked. He glanced at the menu. “What are you getting?”

Bucky looked down and his frown deepened. “This isn’t in english. I think they gave me the wrong one.”

“No, it's supposed to be like that. The first section is the appetizers, the second is all of the pasta dishes, and the third is all the meat dishes.” Steve said, pointing at the menu.

“Oh.” Bucky said. “I still don't know what any of these things are.”

“We can ask the waiter.”

The sommelier came by with complimentary sparkling wine that made Bucky jump when the cork popped.

“It's pink!” Bucky cried, holding his flute of rosé.

“Yeah.” Steve laughed. “Cheers.” They clinked their glasses together and drank.

“It tastes pink!”

The waiter came by and patiently explained their menus. Steve ordered the braised lamb at the suggestion the chef, and Bucky ordered the gnocchi. (which Steve noticed was the cheapest entree on the menu)

As they waited for the food to come, Bucky poured himself some more rosé. “What do people talk about on dates? Real dates, I mean. Nice sit-down dates.” Bucky tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He was looking down at the table, blushing and smiling at nothing.

“I-I’m not really sure.” Steve said, chuckling. He felt shy, overheated and flustered. Bucky, even while feeling the same, was somehow alluring.

The waiter swooped by, refilling their water glasses and leaving them a basket of bread. Bucky grabbed one of loaves and tore into it, groaning at the smell of warm bread.

“Ohmygod.” He said, mouth full. “You have to have some of this bread.”

Once they had food in front of them, conversation flowed easily between the two of them. Steve talked about his transition from military basic to art school, about moving to Manhattan to work for Miss Potts and meeting Sam and Natasha through Craigslist. Bucky talked about his teenage years as a troublemaker, about stealing his high school principal’s motorbike in retaliation for disqualifying Bucky from the science fair.

“But I didn’t even break the rules! But the asshole hated me so he said my project was _obviously_ stolen because there’s no way I could have made something so advanced.”

“So you stole his motorbike?”

“Well, the prick obviously wasn’t sure what stolen meant. So I cleared it up for him.”

Steve laughed. Bucky bit down on a grin. “I totally would have won too. It was completely unfair.”

“What was it?” Steve asked and Bucky sighed.

“I made this awesome myoelectric prosthetic arm. It was pretty basic design, but it was functional, you know? It was total bullshit when I got kicked out.”

“That’s… amazing, Bucky.” Steve said, slightly shocked. “How did you even…” He trailed off,  astonished.

“I had this friend, Misty Knight. She had lost one of her arms to bone cancer when she was 13, and she had been complaining about how expensive proper prosthetics were. Like, a standard upper body prosthesis might cost $30,000, but a myoelectric equivalent could cost up to $100,000. And that shit isn’t always covered by insurance, you know? So I looked up how it worked, you know, like body-powered prosthetics versus externally-powered prosthetics. How muscles generate small electrical signals when they contract and how those contractions could be detected by the electrodes and then used to control a prosthetic limb. And my junior year I was working for this mechanic, and he let me use whatever leftover parts I needed. So I made this kickass robot arm out of scrap metal and the administrator was just like ‘yeah, no, no way you could have done this.’ Like being some poor queer foster kid made me incapable doing anything but causing trouble.”

“That’s some serious bullshit.” Steve said. “But the fact that you made something like that with just spare car parts… you’re amazing. Completely brilliant.”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled, blushing.

“No, really. You could be a medical engineer. You should-” Steve had a flash of insight. “You should come work for Stark! I mean, the man is certifiable and his company is still mostly weapons design, but Pepper and Tony are trying to redesign Stark Industries. They’re trying to make it a company that helps people. A prosthetics program would be perfect! You could lead it!”

Bucky smiled, but it was a sort of sad. “Steve, that’s very kind of you but-” He sighed. “I barely even have a high school diploma. I can’t even hold down a job at a Starbucks. It was a fun science project when I was sixteen, that’s it.”

His words were final, so Steve let the subject go, but kept it in the back of his mind to speak to Pepper about.

Their food came and Bucky’s face when his dish was set in front of him was priceless. He immediately took a bite of his gnocchi, moaning indecently. His eyes fell shut and his mouth fell open in an expression of pleasure. Steve coughed, shifting uncomfortably. The waiter fumbled with the water pitcher, red in the face. He excused himself and left the table at a near-run. Steve watched in fascination as Bucky speared another piece on his fork and shivered in anticipation. He put the food in his mouth and groaned.

“Oh fuck.” Bucky said, finally opening his eyes to stare adoringly at his pasta. “I think I just came.”

“I think everyone in the restaurant can tell.” Steve said ruefully.

“How's your lamb?” Bucky asked, and Steve realized he had yet to touch his food, too busy watching the near-pornographic spectacle.  

Steve shoved a forkful of meat and sauce in his mouth. It was delicious, melting in his mouth. He had enough self-control not to make sex sounds like Bucky, but it was a near thing.

“Really good” he said, but his mouth was still full so it came out like ‘Rrrree guhh’.

“So did she win?” Bucky asked, and Steve frowned in confusion.

“What?” He asked.

“The top chef lady who runs this place. Did she win?”

“Oh. No.” Steve said, bitterly. “She should have, but some self entitled douchebro won.”

Bucky laughed.  “Tell us how you really feel, Steve.”

“He had white guy dreads! And gauges!” Steve said, and Bucky laughed at his mock-outrage.

They shared dessert, delicious dark chocolate raspberry cake. Bucky even got a smudge of chocolate on the corner of his lip and Steve leaned over to wipe it off, like in every over-cliched romance movie ever.

When they finally stumbled back into the apartment, they were high on rosé, good food, and lust.

“Fuck, that was the best food I've ever had.” Bucky whispered harshly, pulling down Steve’s shirt to bite at his collarbone.

Steve panted, getting the door shut behind him. “Shit.” He hissed, threading a hand in Bucky’s hair as Bucky worked on what was sure to be a truly magnificent hickey.

Bucky expertly undid Steve’s shirt buttons, mouthing a line down his chest. “You’re so-” a bite to his nipple. “God damn-” a lick to his abs. “Nice to me.” a kiss to his belly button.

“C’mere.” Steve murmured, tugging Bucky up by his hair and pulling him into a deep kiss. Bucky groaned into his mouth. Somehow, the deep and dirty kiss turned softer, sweeter, until it became almost chaste. Steve cupped Bucky’s cheeks, pressing soft kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, the divot in his chin, his temple, his jaw,  the spot behind his ear. Bucky made soft pleading sounds with each kiss, clutching the lapels of Steve’s unbuttoned shirt like a lifeline.

“Please,” Bucky whined, pulling Steve closer. “Bed.”

They staggered into the bedroom, hands all over each other. They shoved off various items of clothing on their way. A jacket here, a shirt there. It was like a hansel and gretel trail of their desire. The back of Steve’s legs hit the bed and they tumbled backwards. Bucky caught himself before he smacked his head into Steve’s, but it was a near thing.

“That was close,” Steve breathed, and Bucky laughed, burying his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. Bucky nosed along Steve’s pulsepoint, and Steve shivered.

Steve sat up, kissing Bucky’s fiercely, cradling him in his lap. He had one hand splayed in between his shoulders and the other on Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s arms twined around Steve’s neck, nuzzling against Steve’s jaw.  

“Fuck me,” Bucky breathed against Steve’s ear, and Steve couldn’t help as his hips thrust up against Bucky’s. They both groaned at the friction, and Steve watched Bucky’s head fall back, exposing the long line of his throat. Steve squeezed the palmful of ass in his hand, then pushed Bucky off of him.

“Wanna eat you out,” He said and Bucky nodded enthusiastically, struggling to get his pants off.

Once he was naked, he got on all fours, and Steve couldn’t resist the urge to groan.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Steve said, running a hand down his spine.

“Steve.” Bucky said, sounding exasperated and horny. “Shut up and get your mouth on me.”

In retaliation, Steve smirked and bit down on the fleshy part of Bucky’s ass, earning a surprised yelp. He kissed the mark in apology and gave his ass a little squeeze.

“Bastard.” Bucky chuckled.

Steve grinned and spread Bucky’s cheeks.

Steve loved to eat ass. He liked the way it made him feel powerful while servicing his partner. He liked to listen as his partner came apart under his hands and mouth. He liked the ache in jaw and the feel of an their ass and thighs underneath him.

Right now, Steve loved all of Bucky’s gasps and moans and curses. He loved the moment when Bucky’s arms gave out from under him and he collapsed onto the bed. He loved when Bucky pleaded as he slid a finger, then two, in and out of him. He loved when Bucky reached back and pulled on his hair. He loved when Bucky was reduced to a trembling mess, gasping incoherently into the sheets.

Bucky finally gasped out, “Steve if you don't stop, I'll come.”

Steve grinned, resting his chin against Bucky’s hip. “That doesn't give me much incentive to stop.”

“I don't want to come without you inside of me.” Bucky purred, and Steve sat up like an electric shock had gone through him.

“Good argument.”

He moved Bucky so that he was lying on his back, then climbed up his body to reach the bedside drawer. He fumbled for lube and condoms, then shimmied back down the bed to kneel in-between Bucky’s spread legs.

Steve awkwardly stripped off his briefs, sighing in relief as his dick bobbed free. He slid on the condom and liberally applied lube to his cock. Bucky was already pretty wet from Steve’s tongue, so he figured in was enough.

When Steve finally slid inside, they both groaned.

“Yesssss,” Bucky hissed, and threw his arms around Steve’s neck.

Bucky already looked well-fucked, sweaty and panting and glazed over with pleasure. When Steve started thrusting, his eyes rolled back in his head and his nails dug into the skin of Steve’s back.

Steve loomed over Bucky, arms braced on either side of his head. He couldn't help but lean down and capture his mouth in a kiss.

Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth with each thrust, fingers twining in Steve’s hair.

Steve came almost embarrassingly quickly. He was so caught up in the feel of Bucky around his cock and the taste of Bucky in his mouth and the smell of Bucky against him. It was like a sensory overload. At least he had mind enough to grab Bucky’s cock before it happened. Grabbing it where it was hard and leaking between them. Three strokes of his hand and Bucky was coming, shouting and biting down harshly on Steve’s lip. The sensation of Bucky clenching around him was enough to set Steve off and he came, too.

They lay there together, shuddering and panting in tandem, Steve half-collapsed on top of Bucky. He collected himself enough to sit up and tie off the condom and throw it in the general direction of the trash can.

He leaned down and licked the come off of Bucky’s stomach and chest and chin, grinning wickedly when Bucky groaned.

“God, if you hadn't just fucked my brains out, I’d be hard right now.” He sighed, almost wistful. He reached up and ran a hand through Steve’s sweaty hair. “How are you so perfect?”

Steve collapsed down next to Bucky, throwing an arm across his chest. “Just am.” He said cheekily, biting at Bucky’s earlobe.

“I am gonna date you so hard.” Bucky mumbled, already half-asleep. “No more of this half-assed halal cart heist shit. I'm all in now, Rogers. You better look out.”

“I'm shaking in my boots.” Steve said, nuzzling into Bucky’s shoulder.

“There will be flowers, music, chocolate; all the cheesy shit you see on TV.” Bucky stopped to yawn. “I'm gonna cook for you. I'll even use the good spoons.”

“Mmm.” Steve huffed, because that was all that he could manage. Bucky probably said more, but Steve had already fallen asleep.


	9. Perfect Little Housewife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that night, Bucky declared that they were now “hardcore dating”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that I see around the corner? Could that be.......... plot?!??

After that night, Bucky declared that they were now “hardcore dating”. He punctuated this by taking Steve out the next day to the movies. They saw a terrible science fiction flick with far too many cgi spaceships and far too little plot. Bucky happily munched on popcorn and rolled his eyes at the terrible acting. Steve pointed out every plot hole and chewed on twizzlers. They walked home hand-in-hand as Bucky loudly complained that the movie could have been amazing if they had put some thought into the script. They got home and Bucky rode Steve while explaining all the ways the science in the movie was outright wrong.

The rest of the week was like that. On Sunday morning, Bucky dragged Steve out of bed and excitedly started throwing clothes at him, telling him to get dressed. He refused to tell Steve where they were going until they got on the F train and Steve figured out they were headed to Coney Island.

They spent the day on playing carnival games and riding roller coasters. Bucky was frighteningly good at shooting games and Steve threw up after riding the Cyclone. After Bucky won Steve a giant stuffed elephant and Steve bought Bucky blue cotton candy, they rolled up their pant legs and kicked off their shoes and walked down the beach. They sat by the shore, and Bucky rested his cheek against Steve’s shoulder. They watched the sunset as the waves lapped at their feet.

When they got home, they were sunburned, sweaty, and tired. The fell into bed, rubbing off on each other until they came, panting into each other's mouths.

On Monday, Bucky waited in the lobby of Stark Tower for Steve’s work day to end. When Steve finally came down, Bucky took his hand and excitedly told him that they were going to the Met. Steve was a member, so they got in for free. Bucky lead him to an exhibit about prevalent female artists in the post-impressionist movement.

The week previous, Steve had read about the exhibit and made an off-handed remark about wanting to go. He was shocked that Bucky remembered, because Steve himself barely had. Once he was there he became entirely absorbed in the art. He could sense Bucky by his side, sense him staring at him, watching him watch the art as it spoke to him, as it reached out and grabbed Steve.

Eventually, Bucky asked Steve to explain each piece to him, which he did quite happily. He told Bucky the stories of Sonia Lewitska and Henriette Tirman and how they kept other artists from going bankrupt during the time of one of Europe’s greatest financial crises. He talked about Emily Carr and the influence that the culture of the Nuu-chah-nulth people of Canada had on her work. He talked about Wilhelmina Weber Furlong and how she became a pioneer of the American modernist movement. He talked until his voice became hoarse and his eyes became blurry.

When he dragged Bucky to bed that night, Steve blew Bucky so long and so passionately that he thought his jaw might fall off.

On Tuesday, Steve came home from work exhausted, so Bucky just ordered a pizza. He had somehow magically cleared out the apartment, smiling when Steve came to the realization that they had the place to themselves. Steve pulled up Netflix and found a documentary he’d been meaning to watch about Nina Simone. Bucky whined about Steve choosing a documentary and insisted that if they had to do so, they would do so naked, invoking the rule of Netflix and Chill. So they did. Steve and Bucky curled up on the couch together, completely naked, with a box of pizza between them. They got so caught up in the movie, that they forgot to have sex.

Once the credits started rolling, however, Steve turned to Bucky. He needed to get revenge on Sam, Natasha, and Clint for having sex in the living room, on the communal furniture. Sometimes, it was good to lead by example, but other times, being petty was too tempting to resist. Especially when it came in the form of sex with Bucky.

On Wednesday, Steve came home to a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. When he wandered in, the was greeted by the sight of Bucky with his hair up in a ponytail and an apron wrapped around his waist. He was chopping something with one hand and stirring a pot on the stove with another. Steve watched and couldn't help but think of what a perfect little housewife Bucky made. Of course, that’s when Bucky finally clued into the fact that he had an audience and shooed Steve away, promising that food would be ready in 10 minutes.

The smell of food had everyone over. None of them had had a home cooked meal since the last time Sam’s mom had come over. Kate and Clint set the table and Wanda and Pietro got everyone drinks. When Bucky finally came out with the food, he had to stop them from descending on it like wolves. He had made a large dish of what seemed to be some sort of casserole. He held it above their heads and explained that it was potato kugel.

He blushed and mumbled that it was his mother's recipe and one of his favorite things to make. Once he set it down, everybody restrained themselves enough not to tear it to piece but to cut up equal sized portions for everyone. Everyone praised it, and it truly was delicious. Bucky sat blushing at his plate for the whole dinner. Steve squeezed his thigh under the table and helped himself to seconds.

After it was done and Sam and America had been regulated to dish duty, Steve dragged Bucky into his room and they fucked slowly, both full and warm and content with one another.

 

Steve had been daydreaming about what that night’s date might be (along with what mind blowing sex that was sure to await him afterwards) when Tony had crashed through Pepper’s office, subsequently ruining his mood.

“Sup, loser?”

Tony was cruising past him in a desk chair that has been hooked up with various machinery, holding a what looked like a remote control for a toy helicopter. Steve watched with bored interest as Tony overshot and crashed into the wall with an undignified screech.

Tony scooched back to Steve’s desk slowly, feet only barely touching the floor.

“Can I help you, Mr. Stark?” Steve asked dryly.

“Super secret meeting. My office. 10 minutes.” Tony hissed, then scooched away.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d woken up in such a good mood, too. Of course this would be the day Tony Stark finally  decided to lose his damn mind.

Steve sighed and pushed back from his desk. He glanced over to where Pepper usually sat, frowning at the empty chair. He hadn't seen her all day, which was strange because Steve knew she was in today. On days like these, it was usually impossible to drag her away from her desk. Her absence felt important.

Steve checked the time on his phone and rolled his eyes. He decided to stop at the coffee shop on the 58th floor on his way to Tony’s office. He bought an Americano for himself and after some deliberation, a sugary concoction with caramel and hazelnut for Tony. Steve has always found that Tony tended to be easier to deal with when you ply him with caffeine and sugar.

Steve got in the service elevator and sighed again. “Jarvis,” He prompted, and the elevator dinged.

Steve watched as the floor number changed, tapping his foot against the floor anxiously. With Tony, this Super Secret Meeting could be anything between “what flowers do Pepper like the most” to “help I accidentally made a super-nuke and sold it to North Korea”.

When the doors finally slid open, Steve patted the side of the elevator. “Thanks, J.” Steve said, and the elevator dinged again.

 _“My pleasure,”_  Jarvis replied.

Steve walked out onto Tony’s floor. He walked down the dramatically long hallway to Tony’s office, bracing himself before knocking on the door.

The door swung open, revealing a frazzled-looking Pepper.

“Miss Potts?” Steve asked, frowning. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

She didn’t answer, but simply glanced down the hallway and grabbed Steve’s shirt, dragging him inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Pepper, what-” Steve said, but was cut off when he saw Tony’s office.

It was a mess, papers strewn everywhere. Tony was in the middle of it all, spinning in his robo desk chair. Colonel Rhodes was there, pacing back and forth and muttering to himself. Sharon was there, too, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, taking in everything.

“Steve?” Someone asked, and… he knew that voice, didn’t he?

Steve whipped around to see Natasha in the back corner. She was wearing a skin-tight black tac-suit and a perplexed expression on her face.

“Nat?” He asked, jaw dropping.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her brow creasing.

“I work here. You know that.” Steve said, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“You work here as an art consultant.” Natasha said carefully. She tilted her head.“Don’t you?”

“He’s the head of my security.” Pepper cut in, pushing her hair out of her face. “Can we get on with this?”

“Very few people have managed to surprise me.” Natasha said with a smile.

At that moment, the door swung open and Clint walked in, wearing some ridiculous sleeveless get up with a bow strapped to his back.

“Oh, hey Steve. What’s up?”  He said, shutting the door behind him with a hip-check. He was holding two frappuccinos from the place downstairs, handing one to Natasha. It reminded Steve to set Tony’s coffee of his desk. This seemed to perk Tony up, and he took a long sip, looking at how Steve was gaping at Natasha and Clint.

“So you know our resident spooks? How?” He asked, looking between them with interest.

“Spooks? Nat, what's going on?” Steve looked between his roommates, his bosses, and his coworkers in utter befuddlement.

“They're with SHIELD.” Sharon said, pushing herself off the wall. “We have a situation.”


	10. Some One With That Particular Set Of Skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going out of town all week and I didn't want to leave on that cliffhanger, lol. Also, it's March 10th! The Beautiful Bucky Barnes' Birthday. So to celebrate, here's a short chapter with... no Bucky in it. :(

“So let me get this straight,” Steve said, pacing.  “You,” He pointed at Tony. “In order to end your weapon’s program and better your company and yourself, sold your billion dollar weapon deal and most of your weapon designs, including, apparently: a sentient armour called “war machine” that could replace human combat soldiers, a malicious AI that wants to see the destruction of humankind, and a sonic disruptor unit that can shatter mountains; to Justin Hammer, who is evidently a war criminal. Am I getting this all right so far?”

“So far.” Sharon nodded. 

“I mean, you’re simplifying it a little…” Tony grumbled, and Rhodey shushed him. Tony pouted petulantly and noisily sipped his coffee. 

“When SHIELD; who’s top agents are apparently my roommates- don’t think I don’t still have questions about that- came to question you for handing over such a weapon to such a man, they realized that you didn’t do it on purpose, but simply did not read the paperwork regarding the deal.” 

Pepper rubbed at her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “Tony, how many times-” She sighed, and stopped; waving her hand imperiously as if waving away her frustration. Tony winced and slumped down in his chair as if to hide under his desk. 

“So, what do we do now?” Colonel Rhodes asked, rapping his knuckles against his leg in a nervous gesture. 

“We can’t let Hammer keep the Ultron Program.” It was Dr. Banner, who came stumbling into the room, looking slightly green. 

As the room swung its attention to Bruce, and he looked around, finding a chair and sliding into it. “If nothing else, we have to get Ultron away from him. If he could find a way to weaponize it… it would be uncontrollable. There would be massive casualties, civilian casualties.” 

“Right,” Steve said. “Ultron’s the killer robot one, right? Just want to make sure I'm getting all the facts straight, because there are just so many possible weapons of mass destruction available at our disposal that I didn't know about!” Steve exclaimed, half hysterical. 

It was quiet for a few beats as everyone stared in shock at his outburst. 

“You’re sassy.” Tony said, grinning for the first time since Steve’s been in his office. “I didn't know you had a personality! That's fun, save that for when we aren't responsible for the world being in immediate danger.”

“I’m sorry, ‘We’?” Pepper asked, voice going shrill. Her face was flushed and her fists were clenched and she looked ready to sock Tony in the jaw. 

“Maybe we should all take a breath.” Dr. Banner said, glancing nervously around the room. 

Steve grabbed a chair and ushered Pepper into it. He went to the mini fridge he knew Tony kept in his office and opened it. There were rows and rows of liquor and various garnishes and fix-ins such as limes and olives, simple syrup and ice, even a thing of margarita salt. 

“Do you have any water?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrow at Tony. 

“I have tonic.” The man said with a shrug. 

Steve filled a glass with ice and unscrewed the bottle of tonic. He gave it to Pepper and she handed it back to him with a scowl.  “Needs a split of gin.” 

Steve nodded and found the bottle of Hendricks and a slice of lime, fixing a G&T the way he knew Pepper liked. After she downed it, he dug through the mini fridge and mixed himself an Old Fashioned. 

Both Sharon and Rhodey refused his offer of a cocktail, and Steve knew that Banner didn't drink. He was pointedly not offering anything to Tony, Clint, or Natasha in a passive aggressive display of his anger with them. 

Clint and Natasha had been pretty quiet after Sharon's explanation, hanging back in a far corner. If Steve wasn't so throw off-guard by their presence, he would have forgotten they were there. Almost everyone else had in favor of bickering amongst themselves. Steve assumed that Clint and Natasha were waiting for the right moment, waiting for tempers to cool before discussing whatever it is that they need to.  

Natasha, though she would deny it, was something of a drama queen and delighted in causing theatrics. Steve was sure that whatever solution she and Clint had planned was going to be a bombshell that she was going to drop at the most opportune moment to cause mayhem. 

He hadn’t deigned to look at them, still dissecting each falsehood, each lie that they had told him. He felt betrayed, confused. He supposed that they didn’t owe him anything. After all, they’re just his roommates. He had just answered an ad. He just paid his portion of the rent. That didn’t make them friends. That didn’t mean that they owed him the truth. It's not like he had told them the whole truth about his job, either. They thought he was just an art consultant, not an art consultant/bodyguard.

It's just that he thought they were his friends. He thought they were his best friends. He felt like he didn’t know them at all, now. It made him feel stupid, to be hurt over this. Like a little kid finding out that Santa wasn’t real. It made him feel like a hypocrite.

Maybe he didn’t have a right to this sense of betrayal, but he was feeling it anyway, like a knife in the back.

He glanced at them now, seeing Natasha looking stoically over the crowd, not glancing at Steve. She was gripping the coffee cup with white knuckles, and the tight lines around her lips revealed her unhappiness. Clint’s expression was more blatant, looking like a kicked dog over at Steve, all big eyes and apologetic features. Steve wondered how on earth he managed to become a spy. 

“How do we fix this?” Pepper finally asked, rubbing a hand down her face and looking forlornly into her empty glass. “What do we do to… to stop Hammer?” 

“The gala.” Steve realized. Everyone turned to look at him. “The party to celebrate the Stark/Hammer merger. We’ll be at the Hammer Tech HQ, right? And everyone involved in the deal will be there…” Steve trailed off, eyes skittering to the side. He glanced up at Clint and Natasha. “What do you have planned?” 

Natasha quirked up one side of her mouth in a disingenuous smile. She pulled out her phone and a projection appeared on the opposite wall, blueprints of a building and photographs of various personnel.  

“You each have invitations to the gala.” Natasha said, assessing the people assembled in the room. “Now; Rhodes, Carter, Rogers, you each have combat training, correct?” 

Steve bristled at the formal way Natasha addressed him, as if he were a soldier under her command. He gave a tight nod, not meeting her gaze when it fell over him. 

“Great.” Clint clapped his hands together, smiling at the three of them like a teenage camp counselor. “Since its well known that Sergeant Carter is in charge of company security and Colonel Rhodes is a war hero, we can’t have you doing much behind the scenes. I’m gonna have you guys focused on Hammer’s security forces. Sharon, are you familiar with Skeleton Crew Security?”

Sharon scowled. “They’re a bunch of thugs for hire under the guise of a security company.”

Clint nodded in agreement. “Hammer hired them as outside security specifically for this party. I want you to find out where their strength and weakness are, and I want your guys on each of them like stripes on a tiger.” 

“You got it,” Sharon said, already typing into her phone. 

“Rhodes, you’re on personal security.” Natasha said, and Rhodey snapped to attention. Natasha pressed something on her phone and an image a long haired dark skinned man enlarged on the wall. “This is Ivan Vanko. He’s Hammer’s shadow. He’s got extensive military training and he’s completely unpredictable. He’ll do next to anything to protect his boss, and he’s to be considered armed and dangerous. I need you keep both eyes on him at all times. He so much as sneezes, and I need you to be ready to take him down.” 

Rhodey nodded solemnly, studying the photo of Vanko. 

“Rogers,” Natasha started, and caught his steely gaze. She sighed. “Steve."

“Steve, you’re our golden ticket.” Clint said, still with that camp counselor energy.

“I’ll be on the ground, canvassing and protecting Pepper and Tony. Clint will be our eye in the sky. I’ll need you to head this mission. No one will expect you.  _ I  _ didn’t expect you.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “What do I have to do?”   


“In short, you’ll need to steal some keys, break into an office, crack a safe, and take all documents relating to the deal and all of the weapon plans.” Clint said. 

Steve blinked for a second, taking it all in. “And in long?” 

“We’ll take it step-by-step later.” Natasha said, glancing around the room. “The less everyone knows, the better.”

Steve thought about it for a second. “Okay, even putting aside every single thing that could go wrong with the condensed version of that plan, you do know I can't crack a safe, right? Or jimmy a lock? Hell, I don't even know how I'm gonna pickpocket-” Steve stopped and looked at Natasha. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Clint grimaced. “We do know someone with that particular set of skills, yes.” 

  
“Fuck,” Steve said, and put his face in his hands.


	11. Safe-Cracker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve-”  
> “Dude, don’t.” Steve cut him off, holding up a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I was out of town and when I got back I caught pneumonia. I send this chapter to you from my death bed.

The ride home was silent and uncomfortable, Steve fuming to himself as Clint and Natasha glanced at each other as if communicating in some silent eye-contact language.

Pepper had called a company car to take them home, and they were cramped together in the back seat. Clint kept squirming against his side and Natasha was implacably still. 

They got to the apartment in record time, the driver seemed to be made anxious by the tension in the car. He dropped them off and sped away before the door was all the way shut. 

Natasha and Clint started up the stairs as Steve passive-aggressively waited for elevator, something he rarely does, living on the second floor. The elevator is cramped and slow, and always seem to have a slightly musty smell. When it finally reached the ground floor, Steve grudgingly climbed in, pressing the button with far more force than necessary. 

He glared at the shut doors until they opened on his floor, only to see a sheepish looking Clint waiting for him. 

“Steve-” 

“Dude, don’t.” Steve cut him off, holding up a hand. 

“No, I’m gonna say this now because you’re not gonna let me say it later and then you’ll pretend to forgive me and Nat, but you won’t and it’s gonna fester, and it's gonna build up, and you’re gonna act like you’re fine, but you won’t be fine. But I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. This job, I like it. I’m good at it. Nat’s great at it. It’s fun and it's dangerous and it's exciting and I get to go to all of these amazing places and do all of these amazing things and I get to work with my wife, but sometimes I have to keep secrets, secrets from people I love, and it sucks. It really sucks. It's the worst part of what I do. I’m so sorry that I lied to you, and I’m sorry that you’re involved now.” 

Clint finished this speech with a huff and crossed his arms in front of his chest, making his exposed biceps bulge ridiculously.

“Okay,” Steve sighed, and opened his arms. Clint stepped into them, and with surprising strength, lifted Steve up off the ground in a hug. Steve squeaked unmanfully and awkwardly patted Clint’s back. 

“Okay.” Clint repeated, and set Steve down on the floor. He patted Steve back roughly and smiled. “Okay.” 

They walked into the apartment together, Clint like an eager puppy on Steve’s heel. They found Natasha and Sam in the kitchen, arguing in hushed tones. When they caught sight of Steve and Clint, they quieted, Sam looking appraisingly at Steve. 

“Did you two work it out?” He asked in his counselor voice. 

“More or less,” Steve allowed as Clint nodded enthusiastically. 

“Good.” Natasha said, still cold and no-nonsense. “We’ve got work to do.”

She walked into the living room like fully she expected them to follow. Clint did, and Sam rolled his eyes at them. 

“For the record, I think this is a bad idea!” He called after them. He looked at Steve and shrugged. “I was the same when I first found out. I’m sorry that they- that we didn’t tell you earlier.” 

“Thanks, man.” Steve said, and Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not a spy, right?” 

Sam snorted. “No way.”

“Okay, good.” Steve sighed, then went to follow Natasha and Clint into the living room. 

Natasha had set up a one of those 3-D projectors in against one of the bare walls of the room, where she had the same images from Tony’s office she and Clint were pointing at the pictures and having a quiet discussion. Bucky was sitting alone on one of the couches, curled in on himself and looking completely miserable. Steve walked over and sat next to him with a soft. “Hey.” 

Bucky bumped shoulders with him. “Hey.” 

“So,” Steve started, and nodded to where Natasha and Clint were talking. “You knew.” 

Bucky smiled humorlessly. “Yeah, I’ve known since the beginning. I’m not exactly part of it, but I’ve kept this secret as long as they have.” 

Clint turned to Steve and Bucky. “Let’s get this thing started. Sam?”

“Already out the door,” Sam called, and his voice was followed by the sound of the door shutting. 

“So you guys are gonna expand on plan ‘steal some keys, break into an office, crack a safe, and profit’?”  

“Really? That’s all you guys have? You’re literally the worst.” Bucky huffed and crossed his arms like a teenager embarrassed by his parents. 

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and pulled up the building’s plans. “The gala is being held on the 21st floor, in the ballroom. You’re not a VIP at this party, and you’ll be able to slip away without anybody noticing. You’ll need to swipe keys from,” She paused to pull up a picture of an elderly white man with large glasses and a mustache. “Stanley Oldman. He’s the night janitor and he has complete access to the building. Once you have the keys, you’ll go to the 13th floor-”   
  
“There’s no 13th floor.” Steve cut in, sitting forward, studying the blueprint. “Most buildings don’t have a 13th floor, it's an old superstition.”    
  
“Secret floor.” Clint said, waving jazz hands.   
  
Natasha pursed her lips in the way she did when she was suppressing a smile. “Precisely. The elevator will have a sensor.  If you hold a specific keycard to the sensor, the elevator will automatically take you to the 13th floor. There, you’ll go to room labeled ‘maintenance’. There’ll be a safe somewhere in the room.”

“Behind an ugly painting, in a trick drawer, loose floor panel, et cetera, et cetera…” Clint waved his hand dismissively. 

Natasha turned to Bucky “Hammer seems high-tech, but he’s really old fashioned, doesn’t trust anything he doesn’t make himself. That makes things a little bit easier for us. The safe should be a Schwab or a Brown, probably circa 1976. Probably a simple 9 digit combination lock.” 

“Oh yeah, easy-peasy.” Bucky scoffed. “You guys better tell me what exactly it is I’m stealing.” 

“Weapon designs that could spark the end of the world?” Clint tried, and Bucky collapsed back onto the couch with a groan. 

“I hate you guys so much.”  

“Once you’ve got the plans, you have three possible escape routes.” Natasha told them. 

“Natasha’s a pessimist. If all goes well, exit through the front door.” Clint tells them, pointing at the building plans. 

“And if things go wrong, which, knowing that Stark is involved, it very well may; you have three possible escape routes.” She pointed at the map. “Hammer has an electronic security system that will shut down the whole floor. If Vanko’s people come for you, they’ll attack from the east, the same way you got there. You’re gonna want to head towards the fire exit at the end of the hall, here.” She circled the exit with her finger. “The door will be locked. If Vanko’s guys are close, Steve, I want you to kick it down. Can you do that?”

Steve shrugged. He’d done it before. “Sure.” 

“Now, Hammer also hired outside security for this gala, and it’s unlikely that they’ll be sent up for you two, but if they do, they won’t come through the elevator; they won’t have access. They’ll have to come from the stairs. They’ll be winded and easy to outrun. If you can run down the hall this way,” Natasha pointed at the schematics. “You could hide in a janitorial closet, here.” She tapped the projection. “And wait for them to pass.” 

“Which company?” Bucky asked, and Natasha looked sharply at Clint. 

“What do you mean?” Clint asked, totally unconvincingly. Bucky narrowed his eyes. 

“Which security company did Hammer hire?” Bucky said slowly, and there was something that Steve wasn’t understanding happening behind Bucky’s tone. 

“Just some generic…” Clint said, not looking at Bucky. 

“Skeleton something.” Steve cut in, turning to Bucky. “They said it was called Skeleton something or other.” 

Bucky’s jaw tightened and he turned to glare at Clint and Natasha. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Christ,” Bucky stood, running a hand over his hair. “I can’t believe you two. You weren’t even gonna tell me? I can’t  _ fucking  _ believe you.” 

  
He stormed out, and Steve was left blinking in confusion at the outburst. He got up, looking around at Natasha and Clint’s shamed expressions and at the door Bucky had slammed. “Should I go talk to him, or one of you?”


	12. Monster Tamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just-” He sighed, resting his chin on his knees. “I hate it when they keep things from me. They’re supposed to be the people I can trust the most, after everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, MAJOR trigger warning for discussion of an abusive relationship (Bucky/Brock) and discussion of past sexual abuse.
> 
> Please keep safe, you guys. (sorry this chapter's so short!)

Steve walked out into the hallway to find Bucky sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the wall. He had his knees to his chest, and he was hugging himself. Steve slid down the wall to sit next to him, about a foot of space between them.

“What’s up?” He asked, and Bucky shrugged.

“I just-” He sighed, resting his chin on his knees. “I hate it when they keep things from me. They’re supposed to be the people I can trust the most, after everything.”

“What’s the deal with this Skeleton security or whatever?” Steve asked, putting his hand in the space between them in case Bucky wants contact.

“Brock,” Bucky said with a sigh. “My ex. He works for them.”

“The ex whose apartment we broke into?” Steve asked and Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Bucky tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“The one who bruised your ribs?” Steve asked again, voice softer.

“Yeah.” Bucky whispered. He slowly put his hand over Steve’s. “Nat and Clint don’t really need me to steal some keys or open some safe. Either of them could do that with no problem. They want me there to distract him. They know that he’s their best guy and if I’m there,” Bucky grimaced. “I wish they would’ve just told me, that’s all.”

“Do you wanna talk about it? About Clint and Natasha? Or about, about Brock?” Steve asked, letting Bucky twine their fingers together.

“Nah.” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Just, sit with me for a sec.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and they sat there in silence, Steve gently rubbing his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. Eventually, Bucky took in a sharp breath and started talking.

“It wasn't his fault, not really.” Bucky shrugged. Steve tightened his hand around Bucky’s. “Brock I mean. It’s just the way he was. He'd spent his whole life being abused by everyone around him. His parents, his uncle, his foster families, his fucking caseworker. I mean, he made what happened to me look like a trip to fucking EuroDisney.” Bucky smiled, completely humorless.

“And he met me and, I guess he just needed to be in control of something. To have the upper hand in a relationship for once in his life. And I'm not exactly the poster child for mental health, but…” he trailed off.

“Brock’s had a really tough time of it. And I wanted to help him, because I had people who had helped me. Which is stupid. Never date someone to change them, everyone knows that. But I did it. Dating someone in you met in a sexual trauma recovery facility? Terrible idea.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Worst meet cute ever.”

“You stole my wallet.” Steve reminded him, and Bucky actually grinned at that.

“Anyway, we started dating, and it was sweet, y’know? The way first loves are supposed to be. We got each other sappy gifts, tried out cute pet names on each other, held hands, whatever. We respected each other’s boundaries, which was difficult, considering we were two hormonal teenage boys with minefields of trauma related triggers between the two of us.”

“But after a while it became more difficult. Brock had always had a short fuse, and I _hate_ being yelled at. He would raise his voice a decibel and I would be in tears. We had the same therapist so it was hard to vent about each other in confidence, and Brock started complaining about me to his buddies. I would get my feelings hurt and mope, which just annoyed him further.”

“It was a vicious cycle and we were on-again-off again for most of my teenage years. Clint and Natasha were away a lot, doing missions and stuff, and every time that Brock and I broke it off, I would just feel so desperately lonely that I would do just about anything to get him back. I let him start doing things I wasn't comfortable with in bed. I would stop whining so much when he raised his voice at me. I would shut up whenever we were with his friends so that I didn't embarrass him. He seemed like the only constant in my life, other than Natalia and Clint; and they weren't around much back then. ”

Bucky sighed aggravatedly, then leaned a little closer to Steve, as if to siphon off his warmth. “The first time he hit me, all I could think was _‘finally’_.”

Bucky shook his head. “How pathetic is that? I was just waiting and waiting for it to happen, and when it did, I was just so fucking relieved. Like I didn't have to hold my breath anymore. I had already accepted it before it even happened.”

“I eventually broke it off with him when I was 20. He was leaving to join the army anyway, so it felt like a good, clean break. I started spending more time with Clint and Natasha, and Sam who they had just started seeing. I saw a few people in the interim, a few scumbags here and there, the kind of guys that can see Damaged Goods a mile away and start salivating, but they always ended up fucking off pretty quickly.”

“A few years later I get this Facebook message from Brock, saying he wanted to meet up. He had just finished up his last tour and wanted to see me. We met up for coffee and he apologized for everything he’d done. He said all the right things, everything I had wanted to hear from him. He said that the army had straightened him out, and that he was a different man now. Go, I was so stupid, but I believed him. I needed to believe him. He asked me to forgive him and I did. We met up for coffee again a few days later.”

“We started dating again on the agreement that as soon he started that shit with me again, I was gone. He said that he’d doing anything. Anything at all to get me back.”

“Brock isn't stupid, not really, and our relationship wasn't as combative as I'm making it sound. Brock really seemed better. He started seeing a therapist, got a new job, was making real money. He let me cool off, he gave me some space. We started dating like we used to, and he would listen to me and respect my wishes and I felt like we actually had something feasible going.”

“It was stupid, I know, but I was really fooled. Like I was taking sugar pills instead of proper medication and the placebo was slowly killing me. I moved in with him, let myself believe everything he said. He was soft-spoken now, but it didn't make his words hurt any less. I didn't realize that anything that was happening, because but it was like I lost all communication with the outside world.”

“He needed me so much more than I needed him, I get that now. I think that he had tricked himself in believing the little fantasy we had going. Brock never had anyone in his life, anyone who treated him like a human being. His dad fucked him, his mother beat him, his foster parents neglected him, and the whole world turned a blind fucking eye, you know?”

“He’s was only a monster because that's what they turned him into.” Bucky shuddered against him, rage making him shake.

“And I forgot that. I forgot what he was, what he’d do to me eventually. Slowly, slowly things went back to their fucked-up normal. He started blaming me for things that weren't my fault. He started yelling again. I couldn't go out, because he thought I was sneaking away to cheat on him. I couldn't talk to anybody because he would get jealous. He would humiliate me in public, destroy my things. When he hit me, it all came crashing back. I realized that whatever love was, it wasn't something Brock was capable of, and it certainly wasn't what we had together. He hit me so hard that it finally knocked some sense into me. I don't even remember why he was mad. I just remember that I had, I had to leave, had to run. I needed to get away from him.”

Bucky shrugged and nodded toward the door of the apartment. “I slept in the park for few days with nothing but the clothes on my back. I was too embarrassed to go back to Clint and Natasha. I hadn't spoken to them in months, because they hated Brock, and Brock knew that they were the only people who could have talked me into breaking up with him. Then I found you.”

“Me?” Steve asked, confused.

“Yeah. You reminded me of home. The few minutes we actually talked. I felt like I knew you.” Bucky smiled and tucked some hair behind his ear.

“You actually sort of smelled like Natasha’s perfume, which makes sense now, considering.”

“She likes to borrow my jackets.” Steve said with a shrug.

“Anyway, you made me think of home, and Brock wasn't home. My family is.”

He smiled, tears finally welling in his eyes. He leaned fully against Steve’s side, and Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He pressed his lips against Bucky’s temple and let Bucky bury his face in his chest. Steve held him for a long time, pressing his cheek against the crown of Bucky’s head. Steve’s ass went numb, and he had an ache growing in his shoulder, but he sat there as long as Bucky needed him to, holding him close.

Eventually, Bucky pulled away, wiping quickly at his face. “I guess we better go back and listen to their shitty plan to save the world, huh?”

“Let’s go get some ice cream first.” Steve said, and Bucky agreed.

They helped each other to their feet, clumsy and clinging, limbs asleep.

Steve takes Bucky to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop. It's a long trip and fairly expensive, but it was completely worth it when Bucky laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop](https://www.biggayicecream.com/) is a real thing, by the way. It's awesome and the ice cream is delicious. You should check it out if you're ever in New York or Philly.


	13. Sorta Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve flashed open his suit jacket, so Bucky could peek at Steve’s shoulder holster and Glock, something he had practically drooled over when Steve had been getting ready. “The name’s Rogers, Steve Rogers.” Steve said, adopting a fake accent.

“Ugh, how on earth do you-” Bucky struggled with his bow tie like he was wrestling an anaconda. Steve walked over in two short strides and smacked his hands away.

“Stop that,” He said, taking the tie away from Bucky and tugging up his collar. Bucky sighed and let Steve tend to him, tying his bowtie, buttoning down his collar, adjusting his vest, and straightening out his jacket.

“God, I hate tuxedos.” Bucky said when Steve stepped away, and Steve gave him an appraising look.

“I dunno.” Steve said with a smirk. “I think they suit you.”

Bucky groaned, shaking his head at Steve. “Bad pun, Steve. So bad.”

Steve shrugged unrepentantly. Bucky turned to check himself in the mirror and Steve took the opportunity to stare at Bucky’s ass.

 

In the few weeks since Bucky’s heart wrenching confession, Bucky had clung close to Steve’s side. His anger with Natasha and Clint translated into short, sharp, semi-polite conversations with them and refusing to look them in the eyes, and generally leaving rooms when either of them walked in. It left Steve in a somewhat awkward position, because he was still sort of annoyed with Natasha, and he understood where Bucky’s anger was coming from. But he was assaulted with Clint’s sad puppy eyes every time Bucky gave him clipped answers or turned away from him. He had known that Clint had tried to apologize to Bucky almost immediately after Bucky had stormed out of their meeting, and had even convinced Natasha to come along. But every time the two of them tried to even start to say the word “sorry”, Bucky smiled tightly and would say that he wasn’t mad and that they didn’t have anything to apologize for.

Steve could tell it was upsetting Clint and frustrating Natasha, and he knew that Bucky wasn’t exactly fine with it either. He had said, that night in the hallway, that Natasha and Clint were his family, his home. Steve could tell that maintaining his chilly facade was taking its toll.

His apparent response to this was stick himself so close to Steve that they practically fused together. Bucky became like an extension of Steve, to the point that their conversations became a confusing jumble of half-sentences that make no sense to anyone besides the two of them. It was like Steve had known Bucky his entire life. It was nicer than Steve had thought possible. Being with Bucky was easy. They were more than lovers, or boyfriends. Bucky felt like Steve’s best friend. Steve had never really had a best friend before.

He told this to Bucky, one day, as they were cuddling in bed in the mid-morning. They were catching their breath, laying together in post-coital bliss, and recovering from sleepy just-waking-up sex.  Bucky’s face was pressed to Steve’s collarbone, lying and tracing patterns on Steve’s chest. Steve just watched him, watched the morning light dancing on the expanse of Bucky’s bare skin. He dragged his hand up and down Bucky’s back and watched him shudder.

“I think you're my best friend.” Steve whispered, and Bucky looked up at him. His chin dug into the meat of Steve’s pectoral and Steve winced. Bucky apologized and pushed himself up so he could scrutinize Steve more comfortably.

He brushed Steve hair back and smiled, bending down to kiss him on the nose. “I think you're mine, too.”

“Oh,” Steve sighed in relief. “That's good.” Bucky laughed at him, his warm breath puffing over Steve’s face.

He collapsed back on Steve’s chest, and Steve grunted, gently biting Bucky’s shoulder in retaliation. Bucky snickered and ran dull fingernails down Steve’s side.

 

“Steve? Steve?”

Steve snapped back to the present as Bucky waved a hand in his face.

“You okay, pal?” Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb along Steve’s pulse point. “You don’t look so good, handsome.”

“I’m fine,” Steve sighed, bringing up his hand to hold Bucky’s. “Just a little nervous. I’ve never saved the world before.” He chuckled.

“You’re all sweaty,” Bucky frowned, pressing a hand to Steve’s forehead like a worried mother.

“To be honest, I was just checking you out.” Steve said, smiling at Bucky. Bucky leaned in and pressed a kiss against Steve’s cheek.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Bucky said, giving him an appreciative once over.

Steve flashed open his suit jacket, so Bucky could peek at Steve’s shoulder holster and Glock, something he had practically drooled over when Steve had been getting ready.  “The name’s Rogers, Steve Rogers.” Steve said, adopting a fake accent.

“No, no, don’t do that.” Bucky said, placing a finger over Steve’s lips. “That’s terrible.”

Steve grinned, snapping his teeth at Bucky’s hand. Bucky grabbed the lapels of Steve’s jacket and giggled, pressing his forehead against Steve’s jaw like an overly affectionate cat. Steve cupped the back of his neck and rested his chin against the top of Bucky’s head.

“You can really rock a tux, Rogers.” Bucky muttered against Steve’s neck.

“Likewise, Barnes.” Steve told him, and pressed a kiss to his temple.

There was a quick knock against Steve’s door. “Yeah?” Steve called, and the door creaked open. Clint was standing there, with his hair brushed and wearing a tuxedo, yet still somehow looking disheveled.  

“You guys ready?” Clint asked, not meeting either of their eyes.

“Yeah, we’re ready.” Bucky said, all playfulness gone from his tone. Clint nodded and walked back out into the living room.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who was staring determinedly at the wall. He squeezed Bucky’s hand, earning a quick, unhappy smile.

“Okay, let's go.”

They walked hand-in-hand to the living room, greeted Clint in his suit and Natasha in a truly stunning backless black ball gown with gloves up to her elbows and a matching purse. They looked like quite the pair. It was impossible to tell that Clint had at least three knives on his person and Natasha had a gun strapped to her thigh and two bracelets of those little zappy things she had showed him earlier in the week. Sam was behind them, wearing his stress sweatpants and pacing back and forth through the ugly shag carpet.

“Barnes, Rogers, glad you could make it.” Natasha said, impersonal. She also did not meet their eyes, instead glancing at her reflection in the window to put in earrings that no doubt doubled as weapons of some kind.

“Wouldn't miss it, Romanoff.” Steve said, grinning. He was honestly terrified. He felt like he had no idea what he was doing, despite knowing the plan by heart. It wasn't like the fate of the world was hanging in the balance or anything.

“Stark sent a car. It should be here in 2 minutes.” Clint said, tugging uncomfortably at his bow tie.

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Sam lamented.

“It's gonna be fine, Sammy.” Clint sighed, trying to stop his pacing.

“No, this is just like Budapest all over. Remember Budapest?” He said, looking concernedly at Clint.

“Yeah, I remember.” Clint said. “But this is nothing like that.”

“I was right about Budapest,” Sam told him, raising his eyebrows. “I could be right about this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Natasha said, sounding exasperated. “It's really a simple mission.”

“My momma-” Sam started and Clint groaned.

“I know, I know. Your momma says-”

“My momma says that when you've gotta bad feeling about something, you best listen.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them, Sam.” Steve promised, reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “You’ll know right away if anything happens.”

“Thanks, man.” Sam said, and Steve smacked him on the back.

“Car’s here.” Bucky called from where he was peering out the window.

“Okay,” Clint said, going to the couch and grabbing a weapons bag. He pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s lips.

“Love you!” Sam called, and Natasha blew him a kiss.

“You too.” Clint said, wrapping his arm around Natasha’s waist.

Bucky followed them out with a quick salute to Sam. Steve walked close behind him, closing the door.

“Be safe!” Sam said, before the door slammed shut.

 

* * *

 

Hammer Tech’s HQ was in midtown Manhattan. It was in an ugly, imposing building that used to belong to Oscorp a million years ago before Norman Osborn died and his son ran the business into the ground. Justin Hammer had swooped in like a vulture, picking up the pieces of the failing tech company and turning it into a weapons manufacturer. The building was a blatant reminder of what had happened.

They reached the building and the driver escorted them inside. Clint ran off to stash his weapons bag somewhere, and the well-dressed secretary directed them towards the party. Clint jogged back, catching the elevator just before it shut. The ride up was tense and claustrophobic. When they arrived on the proper floor, they spread out, Steve and Bucky heading east, towards the bar, and Natasha and Clint heading west, toward the mingling crowd.

The scene was elaborate, with ice sculptures and gold tassels everywhere. The theme of the party seemed to be “tasteless opulence”.

Steve scanned the crowd and found Tony, with his arm thrown around the shoulders of an increasingly annoyed blonde man. It took Steve a moment to realize that it was Justin Hammer, and that Rhodey seemed to be hovering nearby, one eye on Tony and another on the crowd. Steve couldn't see Sharon, but that meant she was probably doing her job well.

Pepper soon found them, rushing over and kissing Steve’s cheek. She was wearing a pretty blue dress and had a subtle flush to her cheeks that meant she wasn’t entirely sober.

“Steve! I’m so glad to see you!” She said, hugging him tightly. He patted her back and chuckled.

“Yeah, happy to find a familiar face.” Steve said, glancing around.

“Yeah, the party’s not really my style, but the-” She hiccuped. “The champagne is great.”

“Pep, this is Bucky, my boyfriend.” He placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky smiled warmly at Pepper.

“It's an honor to meet you, Miss Potts.”

“Oh, he’s sweet!” She grabbed Bucky in a hug, and he looked a little taken aback. “Oh!” Pepper cried, and pulled back, holding Bucky by the shoulders. “The thief!”

Bucky glanced around, because Pepper wasn’t exactly being quiet. Pepper leaned around Bucky and mouthed “So handsome!” at Steve. Steve grinned at her and nodded, before taking Bucky’s arm.

“Well, we gotta go.” Steve said, apologetically.

“Oh yeah, _the thing_.” Pepper whispered loudly. She was handed another glass of champagne by a waiter. “Have fun!”

She bounced off, cheerily greeting some other party-goers.

“Wow. She’s…bubbly.” Bucky said, watching her go.

“Yeah, well, she’s about 40% champagne right now.” Steve shrugged. “Do you see our guy anywhere?”

“Don’t rush this, Steve. You gotta blend.” Bucky grabbed a couple flutes of champagne from another passing waiter. He handed one to Steve and clinked them together. He took a sip and made a face resembling a wince. “Tastes expensive.”

Steve put his glass down without taking a drink. He needed to be clear-headed for this.

“Relax, good-looking,” Bucky purred, wrapping an arm around his waist. Steve pressed closer to Bucky’s side, trying to leech off of his cool. Bucky smelled like Steve’s shampoo and Sam’s aftershave. He rubbed up and down the small Steve’s back, just short of grabbing his ass.

“I don’t understand how freakin’ calm you’re being about this.” Steve whispered, and Bucky took another sip of his champagne, making the same disgusted face.

“I’m not. Inside, I’m freaking the fuck out. Half of me’s looking for our janitor and the other half’s expecting Brock to jump out at every turn. But the name of the game’s outward calm. Relax your shoulders, look around the room like you’re admiring the decor, not like you’re looking for someone.”

Steve noticed how tense he felt and forced himself to relax his muscles. He glanced around the room, eyes scanning the crowd but stopping on details like the gaudy chandelier and the gold table cloths.

“Good, you’re doing great. Now turn to me and laugh at something” Bucky ordered. Steve did as he was told. “Okay, now that you’re looking this way, check this side of the room. Pay attention the waitstaff and any large men with military haircuts.”

Steve noted three men matching Bucky’s description and a stocky woman that looked like she easily take any one of them down. He reported this back to Bucky, and Bucky shook his head. “Brock’s heading this mission, and he’s a Class-A misogynist. He might hire a few women, but he’d never put them on such a high-profile assignment.”

“She could be one of Vanko’s,” Steve argued.

“No, Vanko’s people are on the other side of the room, mixed in with the crowds. They're sticking close to Hammer. There's obviously some discontent between the two groups, they won't work together unless they absolutely have to.” Bucky’s hand slipped to Steve’s ass and squeezed lightly.

Steve batted at his hands. “Stop that. How come you never got into the spy stuff? You're really good at it.”

“I learned from the best,” Bucky smiled, but there was something sad behind it. “I just never really got the chance. And I'm not so good at the whole secret life thing, you know? Or violence. I'm terrible with violence.”

Steve nodded, brushing his lips against Bucky’s temple. He startled back when Bucky jumped forward.

“What?” He asked and Bucky smiled.

“4 o’ clock.”

Steve glanced that way and saw their target, wearing a tux rather than his jumpsuit. He was on the dancefloor looking adorable in that way only little old men could. “Stanley sure can freshen up.”

Bucky reached over to one of the tables and grabbed some napkins, stuffing them in his pocket.

“Be right back,” Bucky said, patting Steve’s chest.

Steve watched as Bucky navigated his way through the crowd, moving almost sensually as prevented bumping into anybody and kept his drink from spilling.

He made it to the dance floor and started, well, dancing. He seemed to lose all inhibition, moving like water. He was beautiful and reckless, and Steve couldn't keep his eyes off of him.

He wasn't the only one. Steve noticed a man in his late twenties moved through the crowd, directly toward Bucky. He looked as entranced as Steve felt.  Steve couldn't see his face but noticed his muscular build and uniform haircut. Something about him stood out to Steve, though he could quite figure it out.

Steve lost sight of the man as Bucky stumbled and spilled his champagne on Stanley. The old man jumped back, startled. Steve could see Bucky apologizing profusely, playing off the drunken act. The old man kindly waved him off, but Bucky fumbled, pulling napkins out of his pocket. Steve watched Bucky pat the man down, trying to soak up the drink and minimize the damage.  The man laughed it off, shaking his head and smiling at Bucky. Bucky smiled back and clapped the man’s shoulder, then made his way back through the crowd.

Steve couldn't see the guy but had the strong suspicion that he was watching them. Watching Bucky.

He met Steve’s eye and smirked, nodding slightly. Steve smiled tightly back at him.

“Hey,” Bucky said, finally reaching Steve. He set down his empty glass. “You ready?”  
Steve slung his arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “Let's do this thing.”


	14. The Guy Who Saved The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safe cracking, fakeout makeouts, air ducts, elevator fight scenes...
> 
> shit's about to go down

“Buck…” Steve said, warningly. He glanced around, expecting that guy to appear. 

“Hold your horses, I'm trying, we’ll get there.” Bucky says, trying a different key card. His hands were shaking. 

“Bucky, there’s someone-” 

The elevator dinged Bucky grabbed Steve by the lapels and slammed him into the wall. He pressed his mouth to Steve’s and hiked up his leg up, wrapping it around his waist. Steve held his thigh, trying to support his weight. 

“Oh, uh…” there was a cough and Bucky whipped around, putting a hand on Steve’s chest, pinning him in place. 

There was an older woman standing there, arm looped through a much younger man’s. 

“Oh, sorry.” Bucky giggled drunkenly. “I guess we’re hogging the elevator. C’mon,” he waved them in. 

“Um, that's okay.” The man said. “We’ll get the next one.” 

“Have a nice night.” Steve said, waving awkwardly. Bucky pressed the ‘door close’ button, only a little frantically. Steve admired his resolve. 

“Fuck that was close.” Bucky sighed, pulling the keys back out of Steve’s pocket. He didn't even notice Bucky putting them there. 

Bucky scanned the next keycard and sighed when nothing happened. He swiped it a second time for good measure. It didn't do anything. Steve kept holding the ‘door close’ button while Bucky methodically scanned keycards. Finally, something electronic made a beeping sound, and the elevator dinged

They both cheered, and Steve nearly tackled Bucky in a hug. 

The elevator ride was depressingly anticlimactic as they went down the eight floors to number 13. Steve wasn't very superstitious, but something about the symbolism made him nervous. 

The stepped out into the hallway, and the fluorescent lights weakly flickered on with an ominous buzzing sound. 

“Spooky.” Bucky breathed, glancing around. Steve was half of the mind to just throw Bucky over his shoulder and get the hell out of there. 

Bucky started down the hall and Steve followed close behind, drawing his gun and keeping an eye out for any potential threats. He understood now, why he was involved in this plan. He wasn’t the “golden ticket” or whatever Clint had called him, he was there to protect Bucky. Bucy was the one who was doing all the work. Steve just had a gun and knew how to throw a punch. 

Bucky found a door and tried the handle, then grinned and nodded. “This one’s it.” 

“How can you tell?” Steve asked, frowning. 

“The rest of the doors have your standard knob locks, but this is a deadbolt, double cylinder. Someone doesn’t want us to get into this room.” Bucky reached up into his hair, pulling out a bobby pin, causing a strand of hair to come loose. He crouched in front of the door a and slid the into the lock. He hummed to himself and there was a clicking sound. Bucky smiled up at Steve, and Steve had to grin back, giving Bucky a proud thumbs-up. Bucky opened the door, holding it for Steve. 

Steve nodded and holstered his gun, slipping inside. Bucky followed him and shut the door behind them. Steve searched for the light switch on the wall, and couldn’t find one. Bucky pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight feature, momentarily blinding Steve. They found the light switch on the far wall, which was weird, but the whole layout of the room felt a little bit off. Steve didn't really believe in things like feng shui, but the way the room was set up just made him uneasy. He couldn't quite say why, just that he disliked it.

The room was small, maybe 12x15 feet. There were filing cabinets along one of the walls and a desk in the middle of the room, but no chair. There was a small shuttered window on the far wall, and the floor was solid concrete. 

Bucky started looking around, pulling drawers out of the desk and opening cabinets, searching for the safe. Steve stayed near the door, keeping an ear out for security. 

There was a cry of victory, and Steve looked to see Bucky crouched by one of the filing cabinets. The bottom most drawer was pulled out all the way and Bucky had his jacket off. Steve walked over and peered at the safe. 

“It's smaller than I thought it would be.” Steve observed. Bucky smirked, and Steve could  _ hear the _ dumb joke he was making in his head. 

“So what are you gonna pull out a stethoscope or something?” Steve asked, crouching next to Bucky. 

“Nope.” He said, popping the  _ p _ obnoxiously. 

He reached into the jackets of his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a small metal disk and- 

“Is that my sock?” Steve asked in disbelief. 

“I don't know, I grabbed it from the widower pile in your building’s laundry room.” Bucky said with a shrug. He slid the disk into the sock. 

“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Bucky said, giving Steve an asshole smirk. 

“Hey, Buck, what is that you're doing?” Steve asked exaggeratedly. 

“This,” Bucky tapped the metal thing inside the sock. “Is a neodymium magnet. It's really powerful. Like, seriously it'll wreck your electronics if you get too close.” Steve scooted back. “Now, most safes use nickel solenoid to activate the locking mechanism.” Bucky started waving the sock over the surface of the safe. “So, all we need to do is need to locate the solenoid,” The sock latched onto something in the safe and Bucky grinned. Steve loved that Bucky was blatantly showing off. Loved that he was proud of himself. 

He slid the sock and there was a clicking sound, and the door swung open. “Best part is that it leaves no detectable trace of intrusion. No fingerprints.” Bucky waved his fingers at Steve and reached into the safe. He pulled out a stack of files and a thumb drive. 

“Look at that,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky. “You just saved the world.” 

“Don't push our luck,” Bucky said sliding his jacket back on and handing Steve the flash drive marked ULTRON.

They pushed out of the room, striding purposefully back down the hall. They were almost to the elevator when it dinged, and the door started to open. 

“Shit!” Bucky barked, and Steve grabbed his arm, drawing his weapon. 

“Get to the stairs,” he ordered, keeping Bucky behind him. 

They started back in the other direction when the men from the elevator started piling out into the hallway. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Bucky muttered, skidding to stop. 

“What?” Steve said, pointing his gun at the ground and watching Vanko's people. They were wearing suit but were heavily armed. 

Bucky pulled him back and Steve saw that men in tac gear were running out of the fire stairs. 

“Fucking fuck!” Steve yelled, looking between the two groups. 

Bucky grabbed Steve by his jacket and pulled him back into the room. He shut the door locked it, and leaning heavily against it. 

“Barricade it.” He panted and Steve nodded, pressing himself against the desk, pushing it towards the door. Bucky moved out of the way and Steve slammed the door against the wall. 

Bucky jumped up and grabbed the top of one of the filing cabinets until it fell down behind the desk with a loud crash. Bucky fell flat on his ass, but scrambled to his feet, clutching the folders. 

There were a few loud banging sounds and the door rattled. Bucky looked panickedly at Steve and glanced towards the ceiling. 

“Steve help me up.” He said, patting Steve’s shoulder. 

“What?” Steve asked, not taking his eyes off the door. 

“Remember when we broke into Brock's apartment?” He asked, and Steve nodded.   “Remember when you gave me a boost to Brock’s fire escape? Do that again.” 

He pointed up at the ceiling and Steve saw the air vent and understood his intent. 

Bucky put down the files and took off his shoes. Steve held out his hands in a cup and Bucky stepped into them, trying to reach the ceiling. His fingertips scrambled a few inches below the ceiling, unable to reach. He made a distressed sound and Steve tried to lift him higher, but Bucky wobbled uncertainly. 

“Stand on my shoulders.” Steve said, and Bucky looked down at him.

“I'll keep you up, get on my shoulders.” Bucky nodded and stepped up onto his shoulders. Steve tried not to wince. He gripped Bucky’s legs when Bucky swayed and squeaked in alarm. 

Bucky made quick work of unscrewing the grating on the vent. He pulled himself up into the air duct, climbing inside. He stuck his arm out. 

“Hand me the files.” He said, and Steve reached up and Steve did. Bucky took the files and stuck his head out. He waved his arm at Steve. 

“Come on, I'll pull you up.” He said. 

Steve glanced at the door. “No, you've got the files, just go.”

“Steve, don't be stupid, come on.” Bucky said, sounding a little frantic. 

Steve pulled back the hammer on his gun and turned to face the wall, raising his weapon. “You go ahead, get out of here. I'll hold them off.” 

“Steve there's gotta be at least 30 guys out there, you can't fight them all.” Bucky’s voice was desperate now. 

“I'll be okay. You need to get out of here.” Steve told him. 

“No, not without you!” Bucky’s voice cracked. Steve glanced back and saw Bucky’s face. He looked like he was hurting. Like he needed Steve to listen to him. 

“Steve, please.” Bucky said, and Steve glanced back at the door, where the wood was starting to splinter. 

“Shit,” Steve sighed and holstered his gun.  

He looked up at Bucky and took his hand. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, I've always wanted to do this,” Steve said, ducking a metal bar. “But it's not as fun as I thought it would be. My back hurts, my knees hurts, my neck hurts-” 

“Okay, I have no idea where we’re going.” Bucky said, crawling through the air ducts.  Steve couldn't see his face, but he sounded slightly panicked. 

“Okay, it's okay. We can just have Clint talk us through it. Worse comes to worse, we have the schematics.” Steve reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He stopped and grabbed Bucky’s ankle so that he knew to stop as well. He pressed the home button, but nothing happened. He pressed it a few more times, then wondered if he had turned his phone off. He held down the power button. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, trying to look back at Steve. 

“It's not turning on…” Steve complained. 

“Fuck, the fucking magnet.” Bucky cursed. “Shit, my fault. I'm sorry, Steve.”

“No, I should've listened to you.” Steve put his phone back in his pocket. “Son of a bitch.” He muttered. 

Bucky was started to breathe too quickly. Steve rubbed a thumb over his ankle. “It's gonna be okay. We’ll figure a way out of here.”

“God I can't even turn to see if you're bullshitting me.” Bucky said, voice thick with anxiety. 

“No, we just need to find a vent, right? Find a vent in a room with no people and figure it out from there.”

There was a clambering noise and Bucky startled badly, hitting his head on the top of the vent. Steve winced in sympathy. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

“What was that?” Bucky hissed, and Steve tried to glance backwards. 

“I think it was just the air turning on. We should be fine.” Steve assured him. 

Bucky started moving again, slow and precocious. He was still holding the folders to his chest, so he really was only working with one arm. 

Steve kept up a steady pace behind him, feeling sort of like a herding dog. He kept track of Bucky’s breathing rate, worried he’ll have an anxiety attack while stuck in an air duct. 

“Come to the coast, we'll get together, have a few laughs…” Steve said, doing his best Bruce Willis impression. He felt like he had won something when Bucky gave a weak chuckle. 

They continued crawling through the cramped ducts. Bucky was taking deep, practiced breaths, and Steve could start to feel the claustrophobia setting in around himself, too. He only barely fit, his shoulders pressed against the sides of the vents. 

Bucky yelped at something, and then there was a sharp drop, and they both tumbled downwards, like an unexpected slide. Steve crashed into Bucky, faceplanting into Bucky’s ass. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, trying to get his bearings. They had slipped into larger space that seemed to bracket off into different ducts. 

Bucky was shaking, and Steve tried to see what was wrong, feeling along Bucky’s side, searching for injury. Bucky turned around, and Steve could see that he was shaking with silent laughter. He was holding a bright purple gym bag, one Steve recognized to be Clint’s weapons bag. The ridiculousness of the situation made Steve start to laugh as well. 

“The super secret place he stashed his bow and arrow was the freaking air duct?” Steve laughed, sitting up and rubbing his stinging elbow.

“Oh, Clint.” Bucky smiled, unzipping the bag. He took out an arrow and spun it around deftly in his fingers. Steve started digging around in the bag and found the building’s blueprints. 

“Oh, thank god.” Steve sighed, opening up the plans. He spread them out and mapped out the best route to get out of the ventilation system. Bucky watched over Steve’s shoulder, occasionally glancing back from where they came. 

“Okay, we need to head… this way.” Steve pointed to one of the shutes. “Uh, I’ll lead.”

“Good plan,” Bucky said, smirking. He tucked the arrow into his jacket pocket and picked up the scattered files. “We better get all of these.” 

Steve nodded and helped him collected the papers. Bucky frowned at one that he was holding. “Hey, do you have a pen?” 

“Of course,” Steve scoffed, handing over his favorite ballpoint. 

Bucky took the cap off with his mouth and started scribbling on the sheet he had.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, leaning in and accidentally smacking his head against Bucky’s. 

“Ouch.” Bucky said, rubbing his forehead. He waved the paper in front of Steve’s face, showing plans for some sort of flight suit. “It’s really nothing.” He handed the pen back to Steve and shoved all the papers back into the folders. He gestured at Steve. “Lead the way.” 

Steve started crawling down one of the shafts, feeling Bucky’s eyes on his ass. Bucky followed him closely, as if he were afraid of getting left behind. 

Every so often Steve would stop and check that he was going the right way. Finally, Steve found a metal grate that opened into a janitor’s closet. Steve kicked it open and dropped through. Bucky handed Steve the files, and Steve helped him climb down. 

“What floor are we on?” Bucky asked, elbowing a mop out of his way. He leaned down to hug the files to his chest. 

Steve looked at the blueprints and answered, “Uhhh, the 9th.” 

“Okay.” Bucky sighed, swiping hair out of his face. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter ‘til 10.” Steve said, checking his watch.

“That means we have 15 minutes to make the drop.” He said, dusting off his pants. 

“Right.” Steve said, collecting himself. “What floor?” 

“Back to the party.” Bucky told him. 

“Ugh.” Steve sighed. 

They took the elevator, and Bucky dropped the keys in the corner. They reach the 21st floor, and a crowd of drunken ladies shove their way onto the elevator. One of them bumped into them, and Steve looked down to see Natasha’s small form. She had her shoes in her hand and a tipsy expression on her face. She giggled at him and stumbled into Bucky’s chest, smoothly taking the files from him.

“Going down?” A woman asked and the rest cheered, like girls at a bachelorette party. 

Steve glanced back at Natasha and didn’t see the files, though she was snapping her purse shut. 

The elevator stopped on the 10th floor, much to the dismay of the women. The doors slid open and a group of burly men stood outside. One of the guys grabbed the nearest woman’s arm and yanked her out of the elevator. She gave an offended cry, and her friends started yelling. The men seemed surprised, like they didn’t expect an elevator full of drunk rich women to be combative. 

The men roughly force their way into the elevator, ignoring the women’s attempts to yell at them. Steve saw Natasha shift her weight, and reached into his jacket. 

The first guy went down with a stiletto to the head, and the next guy ended up with Natasha's thighs wrapped around his neck like a scarf, or boa constrictor, she skirt riding up. She had a handful of the guy’s hair, and tossed her purse at Steve at the same time she kicked a large man in the face. 

“Go!” She yelled, and Bucky drew the arrow from his jacket and grabbed Steve’s hand, pulling him along. An imposing man tried to grab his arm, and Bucky jabbed him in the neck with the arrow. Electricity sparked between them, and the man collapsed in a twitching heap.

Drunk women were running past them, confused and upset. Bucky dragged Steve through the crowd, barefoot and armed with what seemed to be a taser-arrow. Steve tucked the purse under his arm and drew his gun, covering Bucky. 

They made it down the hallway, and Bucky pulled open the door the stairway. They started running down, getting past the 9th floor and the 8th floor before someone actually jumped down the flights of stairs, landing in a crouch in front of Bucky. Steve raised his gun, but Bucky held up a hand. 

It was Clint, rising to his feet and holding his bow. He had lost his suit jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He had a quiver of arrows strapped to his back and he looked quizzically at Bucky. 

“Is that my zappy-arrow?” He asked and Bucky gestured wildly. 

“Just go!” 

Clint started down the stairs, and Bucky followed him. Steve still had a purse full of dangerous classified information. 

  
Now it  _ this  _ was a party. 


	15. Not Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve suddenly recognized him. He was the guy from earlier in the party. The one who was watching Bucky so intensely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, warning for canon level violence and Brock Rumlow.

  
They made it to the parking garage, rounding the corner to see Happy waiting nervously by the car. Steve gave him the purse and Happy grinned, throwing it in the passenger seat and driving away. Clint still looked ready for a fight, even though there was no one around.

The door to the stairwell opened and Clint and Steve both swung their weapons toward the sound. It was Natasha, still holding her shoes. She had lost her gloves and bracelets, but nothing else about her was out of place. Her hair hadn’t even come out of its pretty updo.

She saw them and nodded, slipping her heels back on. She she started walking over to them and stopped suddenly, staring at a point past Steve. Steve, Bucky and Clint all turned to see what she was staring at.

A man was walking out of the shadows. He was wearing a suit and holding a gun, looking insufferably smug. Steve suddenly recognized him. He was the guy from earlier in the party. The one who was watching Bucky so intensely.

“Brock.” Bucky choked, grabbing Steve’s arm tightly.

“Jamie.” Brock said in acknowledgment. “I’m impressed.”

Like that, they were surrounded. Men in tact gear came out from behind cars, forming a circle around the five of them.

“Take their weapons.” Brock commanded, and two men moved forward, disarming Clint and Steve, taking the arrow away from Bucky, and moved to pat down Natasha. She primly held up a hand and hiked up her skirt, removing her thigh holster and handing it over.

The men retreated and Brock took a step closer. Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm tighter but didn't flinch back.

Brock scoffed. “This guy? Really, babe? Since when is Boy Scout your type?”

“Did you like my painting?” Bucky asked, voice calm even as his hand shook.

“It was very inspired.” Brock said, still with that same terrible smug expression. “Now, where is it, James?”

“Where’s what?” Bucky asked weakly.

“Don't fuck around with me, baby. I can read you like a book.” Brock said, then gestured. All of the guns in the room pointed at them.

“C’mere.” Brock said, crooking his finger at Bucky. Bucky paled, taking a step back.

Brock pouted, faux-petulantly. “Jamie. Come here, or I will shoot your surrogate mommy, your surrogate daddy, and your Malibu Ken Doll.”

Bucky let go of Steve's hand. Steve tried to grab for it, but the nearest guard waved his rifle at him threateningly.

Bucky walked to Brock’s side, ashen and shaking. Brock wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple and Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Bucky shook his head, eyes still closed. Brock chuckled and nosed along Bucky’s hairline. “Now,” Brock whispered, lips brushing against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “I want you to tell me. Where. Are. The. Files.”

“They’re gone.” Bucky said in a rush, not looking at Brock.

“Not good enough.” Brock growled, and he dug his fingers into Bucky’s side, where Steve knew bruises lay.

“We destroyed them!” Bucky told him, gasping in pain. “They’re gone Brock, I swear.”

“Mmm,” Brock hummed, considering. “No, I don’t think so.” He raised his gun and pointed it at Steve. “Try again.”

“It’s in his pocket!” Bucky yelled, frantic.

“Bucky-” Clint cut in, taking a step forward. He was held back by one of the guards.

“His inside jacket pocket. It's a usb stick. It's all there. I promise.” Bucky told Brock.

A guard came and reached into Steve jacket, pulling out the thumb drive marked ULTRON. He tossed it to Brock, who let go of Bucky to catch it.

“Get me a computer!” Brock barked to one of the guards, and he nodded, running off. Brock turned back to Bucky, brushing a strand of hair back from his face. “Good boy.”

The guard came back with a military grade laptop. Brock holstered his gun and opened the laptop, plugging in the drive with a grin. “That Hammer prick wanted us to get this back for him, but I’m thinking that if it’s really what he says it is, then we would make a lot more money selling it to the highest bidder, right boys?”

A few of the guards grunted in agreement, but most of them remained stoically silent. Brock waited for the laptop to load.

Bucky looked back at Steve with an apologetic expression on his face; then looked to Clint and Natasha.

“What the hell…” Brock muttered, angrily clicking the trackpad. “There’s nothing on here!”

“Magnets, bitch.” Bucky said, and a smoke grenade went off as Natasha threw her earrings to the ground.

Steve ran for Brock, knocking the gun out of his hand as soon as he pulled it from its holster. Steve had always been good at hand-to-hand, even when he was a scrawny little kid. He’d won martial arts competitions when he was a teen, and was one of the best hand-to-hand fighters in basic. Brock was matching him blow for blow.

Steve couldn’t let himself be distracted by the sounds of gunshots going off, or by tracking the whereabouts of Bucky, Clint, and Natasha. He just had to trust that they were going to be fine, and focus on predicting Brock’s next move.

Brock was an overly offensive fighter, and didn’t take the time to block. While he was able to roll with the punches, it meant that he was gonna get tired over time. Steve just had to out-pace him. It was hard however, when Brock ran at him like a berserker, fists flying at all angles. It was like the only thing fueling him was rage. When Steve considered what little he knew of the man, he thought that maybe that assessment might be correct.   
  
Brock swung a right hook and Steve blocked, delivering a punch to Brock’s ribs. For Bucky, a part of him though viciously. Brock rewarded this with a head butt to the face.

What Brock lacked in technique, he made up for in sheer strength. Steve knew that if it came down to it, Brock could probably overpower him.

Steve swept his leg, catching Brock’s ankle and sending him to the ground. Brock grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt, dragging him down with him.

Steve straddled Brock’s hips and landed a few punches to Brock’s face. Brock grinned a bloody smile at him and bucked his hips in a twisted mockery of foreplay. Brock grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down, so that their faces were inches apart.

“He’s mine.” Brock growled in his ear, and Steve kneed him in the stomach. Brock grunted and let go of Steve’s collar and pushed him back, sending Steve flying backwards.

He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Air was becoming thin, not reaching him the way he needed it to. Brock was struggling to his feet, and Steve reached for his gun.

It wasn't there. Fuck, his gun was gone and he couldn't catch his breath.

“Brock!”

That was Bucky. Steve looked around and saw that all of the guards were down. Clint and Natasha were supporting each other and Bucky was standing in front of Brock, blocking his view of Steve.

“Look around you, Brock. It's over. You’re done.” Bucky said, voice pleading. “Please, just put down the gun.”

The gun. Steve struggled to sit, seeing Brock clutching his ribs and holding Steve’s glock. He was looking around wildly, like he couldn't decide which of them was the biggest threat.

“Bucky,” Steve groaned, trying to pull Brock’s attention to himself. He recognized a cornered animal when he saw one, and cornered animals always struck out.

It worked. Brock’s eyes snapped to him and he sneered. “You'll never love him the way I do.”

“God, I hope you're right.” Steve coughed.

Bucky scrambled to stand in front of Steve, shielding him from Brock.

“What does he have that I don't?” Brock demanded, still glaring at Steve.

“Brock-” Bucky tried, but Brock swung the gun to face him.

“Tell me!” He shouted. “Tell me what I need to do to get you back or I swear to god I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

“I don't love you Brock!” Bucky yelled back, and Steve wanted to tell him to stop, to think, but he couldn't find the air. “I never loved you, is that what you wanted to hear? All you ever wanted was to make me more broken than you, and I'm done letting it happen. You need help, Brock. But it's not coming from me.”

Brock was still. He looked at Bucky and a sick smile overtook his face. “Well, if I can't have you…” he trailed off. “You know the rest.”

He raised his gun and pulled the trigger. 


	16. Little One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything happened in slow motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave y'all hanging like that. I'm evil, but not that evil.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Bucky’s eyes clenched shut in anticipation, and Steve struggled to his feet. Brock’s gun kicked back, knocking him off balance. Clint took advantage of the distraction to tackle him to the ground. There was a sharp cry and Steve rushed to Bucky’s side. He was on the ground, clutching at something. Steve grabbed his shoulder, cupping frantically at Bucky’s face.

There were tears in his eyes and his face was pale. “Steve, you gotta help me.” He gasped and Steve looked down to see what was wrong.

Bucky was holding Natasha, cradling her to his chest. He had a hand on her stomach, and slippery blood was flowing between his fingers.

“She- she jumped on front of me. Why did she do that?”

“ _Malyshka_ ,” Natasha sighed, reaching up and touching Bucky’s cheek.

“Shh, I’m here, Nat.” Bucky said, and Steve stripped out of his jacket and pressed it to Natasha’s stomach. Bucky looked frantically at Steve. “Call 911. You- you have to call 911.”

“ _Malyshka_ , I’m sorry.” Natasha mumbled, thumb wiping away the tears on Bucky’s cheek.

Steve scrambled for his phone, trying to turn it on. It took him too long to remember that it was dead.

“Clint, your phone!” He yelled, and Clint threw his shitty nokia flip phone at Steve. Steve had never been more thankful for the damned thing in his life.

He dialed 911, listening the the line ring.

“We have to move.” Clint said, harshly pulling Brock to his feet. “We can't be seen here.”

Steve looked around at the men in tac gear collapsed all around them with zip ties on their wrists, and the gunshots in the walls. Clint had a point.

“We can't move her!” Bucky hissed, holding Natasha tight.

“We need to get to the street. We were mugged walking home from the function, okay?” Clint said, sounding eerily rational. “Natasha’s a tough son of a bitch, she’ll be fine.”

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Uh, I'm in front of the Hammer building. We got mugged. A friend of mine got hurt.” Steve said it a rush.

Clint pressed a finger to his hearing aid and muttered, “This is Codename Hawkeye. I need clean up at the Hammer building. Parking garage level 1.”

He roughly hit Brock over the head, and Brock crumpled to the ground in a heap.

“Okay sir, can you describe the nature of their injury?”

Bucky was still holding Natasha, and Clint jogged over, tucking an arm under her head and waist. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, holding her gently to his chest. He jerked his head at Steve and Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, dragging him after them.

“She was shot. In the stomach. She’s uh, she’s bleeding a lot.” Steve said, following Clint as he navigated his way to the street. Bucky stumbled behind him, and Steve was worried he was going into shock.

“Okay, sir we’re sending an ambulance down there right away. Try to apply pressure to the wound. Is anyone else hurt?”

“Uh, we’re all a little beat up, I think. Just, please hurry.”

“Of course, sir.”

Steve hung up as they reached the street. Clint was laying Natasha down, murmuring to her softly. Bucky passed Steve, dropping to her side. Steve stood back, letting the three of them have their moment.

He felt suddenly exhausted, slumping against the side of the building as all the adrenaline left him.

In no time at all, the sound of sirens approached. Steve crouched down next to Bucky and helped him to his feet.

The ambulance pulled up to the curb and paramedics marched out. Clint handed off Natasha, and yelled at another paramedic who tried to get him to sit down to get checked over. The guy gave up and moved on to Steve, who waved him off, and and made him check on Bucky. Because Steve had a couple of cuts and bruises, but Bucky was rapidly turning a sickly gray color that Steve didn't like. The paramedic took one look at him and loaded him into the ambulance alongside Natasha, wrapping a blanket tight around his shoulders and slipping an IV into his vein.

They told Clint and Steve to get the next cab and follow them to Lennox Hill hospital.

Clint handed the cabbie wads of cash and they managed to get to the hospital a few seconds after the ambulance, running in after the paramedics and Natasha.

A doctor just barely stopped them from running into the operating room, and a nurse led them to where Bucky was sitting in the waiting room, waving off medical assistance, but keeping the blanket wrapped around himself and a steaming coffee cup clutched to his chest. Steve collapsed in the chair next to him and Bucky looked up at him.

Steve opened his arms, and Bucky got out of his chair, setting down his coffee. He climbed into Steve’s lap and buried his face in Steve’s neck. Steve wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose against Bucky’s hair.

Steve watched Clint pace, running his hands through his hair until the doors to the waiting room slammed open and Sam came running through, still in his pajamas.

Clint and Sam embraced for a long time, whispering to each other. Sam made Clint sit down, and they held each other’s hands tightly on the armrest.

Eventually, Bucky fell asleep, one hand fisted in Steve’s shirt and the other holding his blanket. Steve followed soon after, soothed by the sound of Bucky breathing and the feeling of him, sleep warm against Steve.

They woke when Sam and Clint both stood, jostled by the movement. Bucky drowsily stood, following them to where the doctor stood, holding a clipboard and wearing a slightly impatient expression.

“Are you with Ms. Romanoff?” The doctor asked, and they all nodded. “She’s in a stable condition. The bullet nicked her liver, but we were able to repair it. She probably won't need any additional surgery.”

“Was there any internal bleeding?” Sam asked, shifting his weight.

“Did you recover the bullet?” Clint asked, taking Sam’s hand.

“Can we see her?” Bucky asked.

The doctor looked momentarily overwhelmed. She collected herself and addressed them each in turn. “There was some bleeding, and we gave her a blood transfusion. We did recover the bullet, and we turned it into forensics to be analysed. Oh! That reminds me, there's a police officer that wants to talk to you about your mugging at your earliest convenience.”

She waved toward the door of the waiting room where a beautiful woman with curly hair wearing a uniform. Steve saw Bucky do a double-take.

“Misty?” He asked, and the woman blinked. Only then did Steve notice her prosthetic arm.

“Little Bucky Barnes? Is that really you?”

“Holy crap,” Bucky muttered, and the woman came over and gave him a hug.

“You alright?” She asked, pulling back.

“I mean, my friend got shot, but other than that…” he trailed off, turning to the doctor. “Can I see her?”

She winced. “I'm afraid it's family only for now.” She said. “Before she went into surgery, she asked for her husband. Are any of you her husband?”

“I am,” Clint and Sam said in unison, then looked at each other. The doctor raised an eyebrow, glancing at their joined hands.

“I-I’m her husband, but we’re sort of, um, separated? He’s her fiancé.” Clint stammered. “But we don't know who she meant, so really we should just both go.”

Steve looked at Bucky, confused. Bucky was hiding an amused smile and mouthed, “I'll explain later”

The doctor shrugged and led them back. Bucky grabbed them both in a quick hug before they left. He sat down and Steve squeezed his shoulder. “You want anything? Coffee? Water? Where’s your blanket?”

Steve found the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around Bucky’s shoulder. “You should probably eat. You haven't eaten since lunch.”

“Neither have you.” Bucky told him, reaching up to grab Steve’s wrist. “Just get something from the vending machine down the hall. Surprise me. And get something for yourself.”

Steve nodded, glad to have something to do. He went to the vending machine and contemplated his options. He decided on a bottle of water and a Coke, figuring that they can share. They both needed the sugar and caffeine, but Bucky needed to be hydrated. He got a dry looking turkey sandwich and some Twizzlers.

He came back to Bucky with his haul, setting it in a chair between them. Bucky’s eyes lit up and he opened the bag of Twizzlers, stuffing one in his mouth.

The police officer from before, Misty, pulled out a chair with her good arm and sat in front of them. “I'm gonna take your statements now, if that’s alright.” Her voice was kind but not patronizing, and Steve liked her already.

“Shoot,” Steve said, then winced. “Poor word choice. Sorry, just fire away.” He slapped a palm to his head. “I'm just gonna stop talking and you're gonna ask your questions.”

Bucky was pressing his lips together, trying not to smile. Misty looked torn between laughing at him and being mortified on his behalf.

“Okay, I'm just gonna need you to recount what happened. Just tell me everything you remember about your attack.”

“We were just leaving the gala-” Steve started, and Misty cut in.

“Sorry, the Hammer Tech gala?” She asked, scribbling something down on a notepad.

“Yeah.” Steve clarified.

“Bucky, you finally made a career out of robotics? You know I still have that arm you made me? It still works, too! You were always such a genius, man, good for you.” She said, a proud smile on her face.

Bucky laughed nervously, scratching his head. “No, actually. Steve was invited because he works for Stark Industries, and I was there as his plus one.”

“Oh.” Misty frowned slightly, but kept her emotion to herself for the most part. “And…” she flipped back through her notebook. “Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were there because…?”

“They work for the government.” Bucky said. “They had some weapons contracts with Hammer.”

“And the four of you know each other?” Misty asked.

“Yeah.” Steve confirmed. “Clint and Natasha are my roommates, and Bucky’s foster siblings. We’re all good friends.”

Steve was worried that he sounded like he was lying, which was ridiculous because he was actually telling the truth.

“Oh yeah!” Misty said, smiling. “I remember now! The redhead, and that muscular blond guy. I thought he was really cute, and you would get all embarrassed and tell me to stop.”

Bucky was smiling now too. “Oh my god, yeah! You had the biggest crush on Clint. It was super weird.”

“Shut up, it was not.” Misty said, and Steve could see them as teenagers, gossiping and arguing about trivial little things. It made Steve happy, to think of Bucky’s past without the shadow of pain.

“Okay, so you were leaving the gala,” Misty prompted.

“And we were all a little bit tipsy, because of all the free champagne and stuff. So we didn't notice the group of guys surrounding us.” Bucky said, the half lie smooth.

Misty looked up from her notes. “There were multiple attackers?”

“Yeah, like, 8 or 9? Wouldn't you say so Steve?”

Steve thought of the dozens of men who had surrounded them in the parking garage. “I don't know, it felt like a lot.”

“And they pushed us around a little. Steve got a few good licks in, I think, but we were really cornered. So they asked for our money, and we handed over what we had, and Natasha gave them her jewelry. But I mouthed off- stupidly- to the main guy. He shot at me, but Natasha jumped in front of me and-”

Bucky stopped, voice cracking a little. He took a few breaths, and Steve reached out to take his hand.

“I think they got spooked after shooting Natasha. They ran off pretty quick.” Steve said, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles.

“Can you describe your assailants?” Misty asked.

“Um, most of them were wearing masks, but the one who seemed in charge, the one who shot Nat, he wasn't. He was maybe 5’11, muscular, dark hair, white with olive skin, maybe in his mid-30’s.” Bucky was describing Brock. Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s hand, and Bucky squeezed back.

“Is there anything else you can remember? Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos? Scars? An accent maybe?” She asked, and Bucky shook his head.

“Okay,” Misty said, standing. “I think that's all I need for now. I'll be in touch with any details that may arise regarding your case.” She tucked her notebook away and took out a business card. “And I'm really glad I got to see you again, Bucky. I wish it had been under better circumstances, but still. It was really nice seeing you.”

Bucky stood and took the card, then pulled Misty into another quick hug.

“It was good seeing you too. And I'm glad that you got to become a cop like you always wanted. We should catch up sometime.” Bucky smiled, and she smiled back.

“We should. I'm taking my detective's exam next month, so I'll be busy studying and wanting to die, but, well, you have my number.” She nodded toward the card.

“Good luck on your exam.” Bucky told her, and she patted his arm, then gave a wave towards Steve, and took off.

Bucky settled back down and took a sip of water.

“She was nice,” Steve commented, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, Misty’s the best.” Bucky said, and Steve made him take a bite of the turkey sandwich.

They ate in moderate silence, or as close to silence as you can get in an ER waiting room at 2 in the morning.

Bucky’s leg started bouncing up and down in anxiety, and he loosened his bow tie uncomfortably. Steve picked up all their food trashed and moved to the seat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Bucky relaxed slightly, leaning against Steve like he needed the comfort but didn't particularly want it.

“It's my fault.” He whispered eventually, fingers curling and uncurling around Steve’s. “I made Brock so mad. I wanted him to be mad. I'm always provoking him, and it's okay, because I'm usually the only one who ever gets hurt, but Natasha-” he cut himself off, tears falling down his cheeks. “I was so angry with her for lying to me, and I could have lost her tonight, and it would've been my fault.”

Bucky started shaking with sobs, rocking himself back and forth in his chair. Steve shushed him, tightening his arm around Bucky and stroking his hair.

“It's not your fault, Buck.” Steve said, and Bucky started shaking his head. “No, you listen to me, Bucky Barnes. None of this shit is your faults. It was Natasha's choice to protect you. It was Brock’s choice to pull the trigger. It was Hammer’s choice to hire Brock, and it was Stark’s choice to sell weapons to a maniac. None of those things are your fault.”

“But I antagonized-” Bucky started, and Steve refused to hear it.

“You told him what he needed to hear. You told him the truth. And he’s damaged, maybe beyond repair, but that's not your responsibility either.” Steve said, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s arm.

“I guess you're right.” Bucky sighed, knuckling tears away from his eyes.

“I'm always right.” Steve said, and Bucky laughed wetly.

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning heavily against Steve. “Yeah, you are.”


	17. Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while, they began receiving dirty glares from the other waiting families and the hospital staff.

  
The nurses in the ER probably hated them.

Pietro came first, a little after 5 in the morning. Kate was a close second, because the two of them often went on morning runs together. America came in around 7:30 with coffee for everybody, and Wanda came at 8 with balloons and stuffed animals and a card for them all to sign.

They tried to talk quietly amongst themselves, Bucky and Steve explaining Natasha’s condition and repeating the story about the mugging. But as a group, they were loud people. Even with their integral triad missing, there were a lot of them. After a while, they began receiving dirty glares from the other waiting families and the hospital staff.

They were loud and abrasive, but Steve could tell that they were all genuinely worried out of their minds.

Pepper came by around 10, somber and apologetic, pulling Steve and Bucky to the side and thanking them for all their help. She gave them a get-well-soon card for Natasha, and asked them to extend her thanks to Clint and Nat. She pulled them both into quick hugs and left, waving at their group of friends.

“Wow, your boss rocks.” America said, taken aback. “Like, she came all the way down here because she knew your roommate got shot? That's awesome.”

“Maybe she's in love with him!” Wanda said, sitting up in excitement.“Maybe she's trying to steal him away from us and turn him into her bourgeoisie husband.”

“I think that she just felt bad that Natasha got hurt, since she invited us and all.” Bucky said with a shrug. “But she could be. He does make for great arm candy.”

Steve rolled his eyes and sat back down, wincing when Bucky plopped down into his lap.

Sam and Clint came back out around lunchtime, looking exhausted but less worried than they had been.

“She’s awake,” Sam reported. “She actually has been for a while now. She told us to go shower.”

Clint picked at his formal white shirt and wrinkled his nose. “She has a point.”

Sam turned to Bucky. “She wants to see you. Dr. Temple said it was okay.”

Bucky looked around like he expected Sam to be addressing someone else. Steve knew that he expected Natasha to blame him for her injury, like he blamed himself. Steve knew she wouldn't. She loved him to death, so much so that she'd take a bullet for him. “Me? Why?”

Clint rolled his eyes, obviously thinking the same as Steve. “Just do what she says, dummy. She’s in the ICU, room 127.”

Bucky looked at Steve, who nodded encouragingly. Bucky started towards the ICU, but Wanda stopped him, handing him all of her balloons and animals and cards to take to Natasha. Bucky visibly steeled himself and walked through the doors marked ‘Intensive Care’.

Steve glanced over at Sam and Clint, and Sam clapped his shoulder. “We’ll wait for the two of you. Y'all probably wanna get out of those outfits.”

“I don't want to keep you.” Steve said, nodding to where Bucky left.

“Oh, he won't be long.” Sam assured him. “She just needs to see that he’s okay.”

“And she needs him to know it's not his fault.” Clint added with a knowing look to Steve, and he sighed in relief.

Sam and Clint hugged all of the kids, thanking them for coming. Wanda burst into tears and Sam rubbed her back, promising that Natasha was gonna be okay. Kate squeezed Clint tightly, asking him if he needed her to do anything, telling him that she’d be there if he needed anything. America and Pietro both hugged them, giving them rough pats on their back and awkwardly giving their condolences.

Bucky came out of the ICU, evidence of tears on his cheeks, but his step was lighter, easier. It was clear that whatever Natasha had said to him worked.

They got an uber back to their apartment, Clint and Sam falling asleep almost as soon as the car started. The two of them were slumped together in the backseat, Bucky squeezed uncomfortably against one of the doors.

Once they made it to the apartment, Steve immediately started stripping out of his tuxedo. He left it strewn across his bedroom floor, happy if he'd never see it again.

“This shit is uncomfortable as all hell,” Bucky complained, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, then giving up and pulling it over his head. He stripped down to his underwear, then climbed into bed. Steve joined him, flopping onto his back with a grunt. Bucky ran his hand gently over Steve’s torso, surveying the damage that Brock left behind. Steve touched his fingertips to the fading bruise on Bucky’s side.

“We match,” Steve said dumbly, and Bucky snorted.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Bucky said. “Though you've got more than me.”

“Not the worst encounter with an ex I've had,” Steve mused. “But certainly not the best.”

“Well, you did kick his ass.” Bucky said, admiringly. “Up until your lungs betrayed you.”

“Does he always talk like a bad movie villain?” Steve asked, and Bucky burst out laughing. “He's mine,” He imitated, mocking Brock’s growling tone.

“Stop, stop,” Bucky said, still giggling. “I'm only laughing because I'm sleep deprived. Don't think for a second that you're actually funny.”

“I would never.” Steve said, grinning, and Bucky smiled at him.

There was a quiet lull and Bucky moved closer, pressing himself against Steve side.

“I'm glad I know you.” He whispered, and it was such a strange thing to say, but Steve understood the sentiment.

“Me too.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, and they lost the fight against sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, so let me get this straight.”

“Too late,” Clint joked, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You're all married? Like to each other?” Steve asked, astounded.

“So, Natasha and Clint are married in the countries of Ecuador, Belarus, Morocco, Malta, and….Hungary? Am I getting that right?”

“Yeah, you got it.” Natasha assured him.

“Clint and I are married in Portugal, Ireland, and South Africa.” Sam said. “And Natasha and I are married in Morocco and Malta, and soon to be here. My momma wanted a good ol’ fashioned Harlem wedding.”

“Is that legal?” Steve asked. “There's no way that's legal.”

“It's really not. It would make all of our marriages invalid if anyone found out, so like, don't tell anybody.” Clint said. He pulled out a chain from under his shirt that held a plain silver band, just like the ones Sam and Natasha have on their fingers.

“Huh.” Steve said, trying to wrap his head around it.

It had been a week since the Hammer mission. Natasha had been released from the hospital a few hours ago, and was already terrifying her poor physical therapist into submission. She was doing really well, almost miraculously so. Steve wondered if it was through sheer will power, or if the shady government agency she worked for had her on some kind of super steroid.

Steve was going to return to work on Monday. Tony and Pepper still had personal FBI agents guarding them each, just while they’re collecting enough evidence to put Hammer away. With the extra protection, Pepper had just told Steve to take some time off. He and Bucky had spent most of their time in Natasha’s hospital room, slowly decorating with more stuffed animals and balloons until the nurse told them they had to stop. Natasha pretended to be annoyed by it, but always held Doctor Bear Von Snugglepants tightly when they left. They spent the rest of the time trying to continue their date streak, kicking ass at pub trivia, eating horrible nachos and going bowling, hitting up Steve’s favorite bookstore, and even doing brunch.

“Okay, dinner’s ready!” Bucky called, and they all headed into the kitchen. Pietro was at a track competition, his first on the Men’s team, and Wanda was there cheering him on. America and Kate were on a date, seeing some pretentious European film that they’d only pretend to like or comprehend. That meant it was just the five of them, sitting comfortably around the kitchen table with nobody’s elbows in their food.

“Okay, tonight we’re having enchiladas with a tomatillo sauce.” Bucky said, serving the plates. He shoveled a little extra food onto Natasha’s, and she pretended not to notice his subtle mother-henning. Steve figured a little more food on her plate was better than Sam’s constant hovering or Clint’s insistence that they follow the doctor’s every rule.

The food was delicious, as it always was when Bucky was cooking. They all complimented the food, and Bucky waved them all off, blushing.

Soon after dinner, Pietro and Wanda came bursting in, high off of victory and adrenaline. Pietro had come in first place in all of his solo races and second in relay. He was still wearing his running clothes and his medals, and Bucky made them both sit down and eat some leftovers.

Pietro went to go shower and change, and Wanda put her glittery cardstock sign that presumably had something encouraging on it (it was in Sokovian, so Steve would never know) on the fridge.

Kate and America came in shortly after them, talking about things like mise-en-scene, and saying “nuance” and “culture” a lot.

Pietro came back and they all crowded in the living room, watching trashy reality TV. Steve loudly complained, asking them all over and over again, “don't you have your own apartment?”, but there was never any heat behind it.

His phone rang in the middle of a particularly dramatic scene and they all shushed him. Steve stood, climbing over bodies to leave the room.

“Hello?” Steve asked, and there was a loud banging on the other end of the line.

“Justin Hammer is smarter than me!” A voice wailed and Steve looked at his phone.

“Tony? How did you get this number?”

“Pepper gave it to me for emergencies.” Tony answered, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“This isn't an emergency, Tony.” Steve sighed.

“Didn't you just hear me?” Tony shrieked, and Steve had to move the phone away from his ear.

“Okay, Tony. What makes you say that Justin Hammer is smarter than you?” Steve asked, like he was speaking to child.

“His notes! He made a note on one of my plans, correcting my equation- well, not correcting it, I don't make mistakes- but improving it. He noticed that the mechanics of the flight suit weren't taking in account what- oh never mind, you'd wouldn't understand anyway. Long and short is, he’s smarter than me and I'm done for as a scientist. As a man, even.”

“He only made one note?” Steve asked. It seemed strange, for Hammer to go through all of Stark’s plans but only write on one of them. Wait-

“Wait, for the flight suit? The one with the wings?” Steve asked.

“...yes?” Tony said, slowly.

“Those aren't Hammer’s notes, those are Bucky’s.” Steve said, glancing over toward the living room. Steve knew Bucky was brilliant, but correcting Stark?

“Is Bucky your dog or something? Do you have a genius dog with opposable thumbs?”

“What? No, asshat, Bucky’s my boyfriend. He's actually the one who got your files back in the first place.”

“Wait, the thief with the pretty hair that Pepper keeps talking about?” Stark asked, incredulous. “The guy who stole your wallet. That's who fixed my plans.”

“The one and only.” Steve said, a sense of smug pride growing in his stomach.

“Put him on.”

Steve walked back into the living room and waved Bucky over. He struggled getting around where the twins were passed out on the floor, but made it to Steve. “What's up?”

Steve just handed him the phone.

Bucky pressed his finger to his ear and listened intently to whatever Stark was saying. He cut in every so often with an “uh-huh,” or a “yeah, that’s-” but was obviously having trouble getting a word in edgewise. Eventually, he dropped the phone to his side, the call disconnected.

“So?” Steve asked, curious despite himself.

“I think I just got a job?” Bucky said, shell shocked. “That was Tony Stark?”

“Yep.” Steve said, rocking on his heels a little, trying to contain his excitement.

“I think Tony Stark wants me to come work for him.” Bucky said, finally looking up at Steve. “Holy shit. Holy shit, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, grinning.

“I mean, holy shit.” Bucky said again, and Steve grabbed him in a hug, spinning him around.

“Holy shit, Bucky.” Steve said, pressing their noses together. “This is amazing. You’re amazing.”

“Yeah, I kinda am.” Bucky laughed.

“Hey, are you guys coming back in? That commercial with the lawyers that you know all the words to is on and America doesn't believe me.” Clint said, sticking his head in the door.

“Yeah, we’ll be there in a sec.” Steve said, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Crap.   
> This fic was supposed to be 10k at the most and turned into a monster heist story. Thank you to everyone who's supported this story!  
> \------
> 
> okay, I wanted to add some Author's Notes about the futures of these characters. I wanted to include an epilogue, but I didn't have enough coherent content.
> 
>  
> 
> So here goes: 
> 
> \- Sam's and Natasha have a truly ridiculous wedding, which Clint officiates and cries the entire way though. 
> 
> \- Pietro continues to win track races and advances onto the national level. ESPN does a special segment on trans athletes, featuring Pietro. Wanda continues to date The Vision. She after months of stressing out over her thesis, she finally gets her PhD. 
> 
> \- Clint officially moves in with Natasha and Sam, giving America and Kate their own place. The two of them quickly realize they can't pay the rent on their own and gain roommates Teddy Altman and Billy Kaplan. Billy and Teddy quickly assimilate to the friend group. 
> 
> \- After a few months of dating, Steve and Bucky decide to get a place of their own. They move all the way to apartment 2B. 
> 
> \- After spending sometime in a SHIELD containment facility, Brock is offered a job as a field agent on the condition that he sees a a SHIELD mandated therapist. After working out his anger overseas on enemies of the state and discussing his past with his therapist, Brock starts dating Jack Rollins, another agent with a shady tragic past. They help each other control their tempers, and have a policy of constant communication. Several years later, Brock contacts Bucky online, apologizing for his treatment of Bucky. Bucky accepts his apology, but doesn't agree to meet with Brock. They remain tentative Facebook friends. 
> 
> \- Bucky becomes Tony Stark's personal assistant and quits after a week. Tony begs for him to come back, and Bucky does, but as a lab assistant. After a few years, Bucky is promoted head of the Medical Instruments program at Stark Industries. He and Misty have coffee once a week.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all are the best! Kudos and comments warm my cold, black heart.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://here-comes-buck-to-fuck-shit-up.tumblr.com)


End file.
